


Semper Fidelis

by scarlettandblue



Category: NCIS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 16:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10598028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettandblue/pseuds/scarlettandblue
Summary: I'm a scared little rabbit and I'm moving all my old stuff from LJ.  (I did not like the look of their new user agreement)spoilers up to season 5 Internal Affairs.My first foray into the NCIS fandom.This is a slash story, Gibbs/DinozzoIt is adult in theme and there is a little bad language and reference to sex





	

**Author's Note:**

> So my old stuff read at your peril.....
> 
>  
> 
> This story was totally a homage to the amazing story “Classic” by the uber talented "Sperrywink” and one scene in particular was inspired by a similar scene from a different point of view in a story by the incredible “Spikedluv”
> 
> And none of this would be possible without the very kind and skilled “Triskellion” who was my beta reader extraordiinaire. You helped and inspired me to make this story happen, You really did. Than you so much.
> 
> Notes for this story: Gibbs 1st wife, Shannon, and daughter, Kelly, deceased. 2nd wife divorced, I don't believe we know her name so I've called her Elaine. 3rd wife, Diane, divorced and went on to marry Fornell , 4th wife, Stephanie, divorced. Gibb's preferred bourbon is Rare Breed but I'm gonna make him drink Old Crow because its cheaper and I adore the name. And in my mind Tony joined NCIS sometime in 2000. (I have no idea what cannon has to say on the subject but that seems right to me)
> 
> My disclaimer is that none of this belongs to me, copyright belongs to the writers and TV companies and the actors etc. I'm only playing here, so please don't sue me.

Semper Fidelis

Gibbs used to wonder, sometimes, how things turned out the way they did. He'd never admit to it of course, he had his bastard reputation to uphold, but all that time spent alone in the basement, working the wood, it gave him time to think. While his hands were occupied his mind was free.

Yet he never figured anything out in all that time to answer his deepest questions: Why things turned out the way they did, why he could not find the places he'd gone wrong, how he could have changed the things that happened. No matter how many times he’d go over it, nothing ever seemed like it could have turned out different. In the end he'd come to understand the pointlessness of playing the _what if game_. He'd come to accept he couldn’t change the past, he could only let it go, let it rest. That if he’d made mistakes they were over and done with, and if he was lucky he wouldn't repeat too many of them.  
Instead he'd learned to spend his time remembering happier things, when he’d been close to the ones he'd lost, when he’d had a family. And when that wasn't enough to get by on he always had his anger. Like rocket fuel a dose of rage could get him through pretty much anything, and it hadn't burned out of him yet. 

But, when he lost his memory he lost that hard won balance in his mind. He would find himself once again trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong. On nights when it was dark outside, when the simple work no longer seemed enough to satisfy his need for penance, when the usually reliable combination of woodworking and the burn of strong liquor didn't grant him blessed absolution, he would recall what he could, and he'd welcome the pain and the irony. He’d remember how they had _all_ be unfaithful in their way.

Oh part of him knew it was unfair to think that way, he had never been that far gone. But some nights, when there had been a close call, when all that had stood between one of his and some dark or bloody ending was sheer dumb luck, then it was hard to remember anything else. Some nights the only thing that he could keep in his mind was the loss. 

Those were the nights that he found himself in his basement looking around for a clue, wondering who he really was and how he ended up there. Those were the nights when the scrape of metal on wood was not a purposeful smoothing of grain and an elegant shaping of strakes. Then, the keel and hull were not a strong framework of sanctuary, dark and quiet and at peace, but instead the gaping carcass of a beast, monstrous and ill formed, waiting to swallow him whole. Then, the familiar heat and burn of bourbon turned to bile and wormwood in his belly, and every nasty thing inside him clamoured to the surface.

He couldn't run as fast.

He didn't react quick enough.

His eyesight was fucked.

He couldn't trust himself.

He didn't understand half of what went on around him.

He didn't remember half of what he should.

He didn't remember who to trust. 

He was too old to care any more. 

He lost every good thing he'd ever had.

He'd made fundamental mistakes that got people killed, or almost. Most recently it had been someone so precious. And it was DiNozzo, not him who had saved her. He'd fucked up royally and it had nearly got Maddie killed. 

He really didn't deserve to be trusted.

Thoughts of the most recent near death experience led him to remembering them all, the people he'd lost. There was no comfort in those thoughts, and the peace he'd experienced earlier when Shannon and Kelly had come to him, pure and shining in the dark water, drained away.  
A shaft of light from the hall above cut across the stairs and the glow from a small TV in the corner flickered into the quiet dark, it was on but the sound was muted. In that small cold light he was hidden by the shadows beneath the boat. An arm across his eyes, a glass of Old Crow waiting beside him, he lay in the darkness.

One by one the memories came to him, the ones he'd lost. But a tiny bitter seed in his belly reminded him that they weren't just lost. A painful little worm twisting and burrowing into the flesh of his gut reminded him they had left, all of them had been faithless that way.

Caitlin. She had disobeyed, put his safety above her own. She'd taken a bullet meant for him, and as punishment Ari had taken her. It had been a punishment for him, but she had willingly paid the price. Even if he didn't remember everything about Kate he remembered enough to feel the empty place inside since she'd been gone. He remembered how it felt when she'd let Ari take her, when she'd left. 

Others came to mind, ones he'd lost, not irrecoverably maybe, not to death perhaps, but they'd sill left him, and each time he'd been emptier. He didn't remember it all, and maybe there was some grace for his soul in that, but it didn't feel that way. It just felt like another thing he'd lost. 

But imperfect memories were enough to remind him of some things.

Stephanie's tired, dark eyes that condemned him. She had been sweet when they met, and he'd soured her, he knew that. He'd made her so angry, made her so mad that in the end, after sixteen months, she had communicated her anger with a golf club because she hadn't found anything else to make her point. Finally, _that_ he noticed, just in time to watch her leave. 

Gibbs really didn't remember much about his time with Jenny. It came to him in flashes, glimpses of places and people, dark rooms, a tangle of sheets, stolen moments. And what he did recall made him wonder if there had been two entirely different things going on. He remembered it as a passionate affair, and one of his longer lasting relationships too, because from what he understood they had been together a couple of months longer than two of his marriages. Jenny looked like she remembered something different. When she met his gaze sometimes there was a kind of angry shame glowing deep inside her. It made him wonder if what he fondly recalled as a love affair had just been part of the job to her. 

He was also sure that there had been at least one time in their past Jenny had thrown him to the wolves, had sacrificed him up to save a mission. It made him think it must have been a relief to her when their time together was over. 

Diane had been too much for him, he remembered that. There had been fire from the first moment he laid eyes on her, and he'd known he was going to pay and pay before they were through. He just hadn't imagined how or why. He had believed he'd stay fascinated with her forever, that they would have a wild ride together. 

He had married a firecracker, and he thought she'd keep him in line, maybe make him jealous, often make him pay, but all that fire and passion would be worth it. Being with Diane like that was enough to remind him that he was still alive. Unfortunately she didn't want that kind of marriage.

She thought Gibbs was going to be the one to take her away from the life she had lived before, that they were going to have the perfect marriage. She wanted a warm, comfortable home, beautiful children, and a husband who wanted that too. She had wanted something good, a chance to settle down and lose her wildness. However Gibbs had done that already, and although he never told her, he was afraid to try again. So all she ever knew was that he didn't want what she wanted, or at least didn't want it with _her_ , so she tried to hurt him as much as that realisation had hurt her. 

As things began to go wrong, she went through as many of his friends and acquaintances as she could. Whether it was because her unhappiness with him made her look for solace elsewhere or because she just wanted him to hurt as bad as she did, it made no difference in the end. When she was done with hurting him, she tried to take everything else from him, too, and she nearly succeded. It had been a close thing, and it was down to sheer dumb luck that he managed to keep the house when she left. Of all his wives she had been the angriest, maybe with good reason.

His first ex-wife was almost the hardest to think of. Elaine had been a nurse at Bethesda where he'd been shipped back to from Kuwait. She was the beautiful smiling face that had nursed him back to health. She had fiery green eyes that never let him get away with a thing. She sat with him through his worst times, stood by him through so much, and he never once said that he clung to her hand when the nightmares woke him because in the dark she looked a little like Shannon so he could pretend for a second she wasn't dead. 

When they discharged him he never thought he'd see her again. Three years later they met, by chance and he was was amazed when she told him she had fallen for him when they first met, and that she was still in love with him. He married her quick, because he figured there couldn't be many women that would find much in him to love, and in his own way he loved her too. But it was love for all the wrong reasons, and in the end it wasn't enough. She wasn't willing just to be his comfort in the night, and she didn't look enough like Shannon in the light of day. He didn't know how to see her as anything else. 

She left him for a Doctor, the Chief of Thoracic Surgery, and it still hurt because he knew she loved him even when he'd acted like a Class A bastard. Finally she’d had enough of waiting for him to remember that he had a living wife, that there were things besides serial killers and terrorists and dead bodies. That she was right there if he would just look up. He drove her so wild that in their final argument she'd resorted to throwing things at him, starting with the contents of her wine glass and ending up with his old high school baseball bat, but he still hadn't been able to give her what she needed.

Maybe because he just didn't have it in him. 

Gibbs tried to stop this uneasy trip down memory lane before he reached the final destination. It hurt to think of them, hurt to remember Kelly and Shannon when his head was in this strange place. Nothing was as painful as the memory of his lost wife and child, and he didn’t want to hurt that way. He didn't want doubt to curdle his feelings for them like they did the parade of other women who had left him. He needed to keep their memories separate.

The difference was, unlike the rest, he remembered everything about his time with Shannon and Kelly, every detail It was all so close to him it seemed it had only just happened. Everything about their lives was there in sharp focus and he couldn't help it, he was there with them in a second.

All the happy times, and the bad times too, because with Shannon there had been bad as well as good. She was every bit as strong and stubborn as he was and she fought her corner maybe even harder than he did. So their marriage had been filled with fiery arguments and icy periods of cold anger, as well as moments of sublime joy and wild passion, times of sweet contentment and warm comfort. It was a marriage of hearts and minds, they just _worked_ on every level. Even when they were arguing, when they were mad as hell with each other, they never forgot that they loved each other more.

While Shannon had been his perfect mate, his other half, his little girl, his Kelly, had been made with all the best parts of him, none of the bad, and she seemed to understand him, too. He could still recall the shock he'd felt the first time he realised that. She had been around five and they'd been in a mall, eating ice cream in the food court, just him and Kel, waiting for Shannon. A couple two tables over were arguing and the guy said something, he didn't even remember what it was now, but as he heard the words leave the guy's mouth he'd thought to himself _what a dick._ And even as he thought it, he caught Kelly's eye and the raised eyebrow and the look of complete incredulity on her face had spoken louder than words. _Yeah he really is a dick, isn't he, Daddy?_

It was the strangest thing, a moment shared. Father and daughter understanding each other perfectly, seeing the world from exactly the same point of view. It never struck him as strange that they shared a world view despite the years between them, despite Kelly only being five. If he thought anything at all, he thought it miraculous, he thought it a blessing that his little girl understood him so perfectly because she saw the world the way he did. After that the bond between them was immutable.

From that day on there would be a moment each day when he'd think _Kelly would love that_ or _that would make Kel laugh._ Even now, after all this time, he'd still catch himself doing it, before he'd remember that she was no longer there. She had left him, too.  
Gibbs hated himself for thinking that. He knew that Kelly didn't leave him, that Shannon didn't leave him. They were taken. They were murdered. And Gibbs had blown the bastard who'd done it all the way to Hell.

But still here in the dark, in this confessional of sorts, the place he came when there was nowhere else he could bear to be, he couldn't help the dark thoughts that formed in his mind.

They had left him, just like all the rest. They had been the first, the most painful, they had set the pattern of loss when they had let death take them. And loss continued, so it must be what he deserved.

He punched up, his fist met the unyielding oak of the keel and pain bloomed across his knuckles and shot like fire deep into his hand and up his wrist. He pulled his hand back ready to punch again, wanting the punishment. He deserved that pain and more for thinking _that_ about his girls.

“Hey, Boss, you down here?”

Gibbs groaned quietly, he didn't need this.

“Boss? You okay?”

“Yes, DiNozzo, I'm fine,” he growled in reply, but he knew he'd made a mistake. Speaking had given too much away. The tone of his voice was thickened by the pain radiating from his hand. 

The overhead light came on as Tony began his descent into the basement. Gibbs was still mostly hidden beneath the boat and he reached for his glass of bourbon. He needed something to kill his mood if he was going to face the younger man. 

He couldn't control the sharp intake of breath as he tried to close his hand around the glass. He was almost confused by the white hot sensation of pain and the nausea that caused his vision to grey out when he gripped the glass. 

“You don't sound fine, Boss.” 

Before he knew it Tony was there, kneeling on the floor beside him, peering up into the dark cavity of the boat. He shut his eyes again while the pain and the attendant pinpoints of white light in his head receded.

“Are you drunk?”

Gibbs had no breath left to speak as he swallowed the bile back down his throat, and shook his head very slightly.

“Did you have an accident working on the boat?”

Gibbs tried not to react to the question, his other arm was back across face, hiding his expression from Tony. But he must have given something away none the less.

“You're hurt?”

Gibbs tried again to be still.

There had been a time when he had been as impenetrable as granite, when nothing of what he thought or felt showed on the surface, when he only gave away what he chose. It had been like the patina of age and it had grown across the surface of his skin over time; each lesson he learned, each loss, each line he crossed made him harder, made the shell thicker. He buried anything that wasn't tough enough deep inside where it couldn't surface. 

Except, one blinding moment when the explosion had ripped through him had done more than knock fifteen years of memories clean out of his head. It had punched through him and blasted that hard shell right off him leaving him open to the world again. Defenceless against the life he'd lived, the things he'd done, the things he had to do. Without that protection he had no way to cope with who he was, who he'd become. 

Gibbs had never been one to second guess himself. Maybe that was his worst character flaw, it certainly explained some of his matrimonial choices, but he'd made it work for him too. At work, it meant he did what needed doing, no matter what. He grew accustomed to living with the choices he'd made, accepting that sometimes there was no _right_ answer. Sometimes the only _justice_ was the kind you made for yourself and the art to it was living with the consequences without complaint. It was a skill it had taken him time to perfect.

Then, late in life, he'd been on a kind of journey. He hadn't gone willingly, rather he had been blasted there with Semtex. He'd ended up swimming through the tides of his own life, only to be jolted awake fifteen years later, a time traveller in his own existence. As much of a cliché as it was, it had forced him to take a long hard look at himself. He had not liked what he'd seen. 

The doctor, Gelfand, had warned him that his kind of traumatic amnesia could have far reaching consequences. With head injuries long term effects were hard to predict. He might experience radical changes in his personality. He might become photo phobic to some degree, or he could be prone to migraines, even develop epilepsy. And if it was linked to PTS, then there could be psychological effects as well. On the other hand, he might simply recover, suffering no long term ill effects at all. It was the kind of diagnosis that helped him recall why he hated doctors on principle.

The doctor had also warned him against making any rash decisions in the first few months following his release from hospital. But while he meant to, he couldn’t follow that advice. All it had taken was that second explosive moment, watching from MTAC, while eighteen lives were sacrificed, knowing as he stood there that it had been the inevitable conclusion they had been headed towards. It shattered him to know it had made no difference to the brass that the eighteen lost souls were their people, people who were relying on them to do the right thing, to look out for their interests. 

In that moment he understood what Mike had figured out all those years ago: that it didn't matter if you were right or wrong, if you were a good man or not, if you acted or you didn't. All of it meant nothing weighed against the calculated indifference of politicians. That good men and women could die in the blink of an eye, if that was what it took to hide the truth, or to spin the facts, just to turn the situation into something more palatable. In that moment he'd known that he'd had a belly full, known that he couldn't stay. So he'd run. Dumped his badge and gun, turned the team over to DiNozzo, and high-tailed it to Mexico.

And once he'd run, once he'd quit, fear had kept him away, kept him in Mexico.  
He was afraid that he was never going to belong anywhere, that he was always going to feel like a stranger in a world he only knew in parts. He felt as though he would forever be uncomfortable in his own skin. He was afraid that he was always going to be angry with the people around him, the ones who were ignorant and the ones that weren't. Oh and don't get him started on how pissed off he was at people like Jenny, who knew how dirty the business was, who knew their leaders were making the wrong decisions for all the wrong reasons, but who said nothing, just kept on working inside the machine, perpetuating it.

Even more, he was afraid he would _always_ be angry. Angry at people like he'd been, people who still believed that there was some point to it all, people stupid enough to think they could make a difference. 

He was lost, too, inside his own grief, unsure how to act. Empty and cold with the ache of loneliness, afraid because he didn't know what to do. There was nothing for him to do. 

The first time around there had been things to do. First for Shannon and Kelly, the thing he'd done for them. Then there had been the job. It had become the reason to get up in the morning. It had been the reason he didn't simply drown each night in bourbon hoping he'd never wake up, at first because Franks would kill him if he fell down on the job, and then later because the job itself. The job allowed him to do for other families, other people who'd lost someone, what he'd done for himself. And he did it for the lost ones too. Every time a Marine or a Sailor died, at least Gibbs would be there, to hear what they told Ducky, and to promise them he'd see it through, he'd do right by them. Semper Fi.

There was another fear too, a deeper fear, that he might return to being the man who was comfortable with that life again. He didn't want to be a man longing for his family, for his wife and his child, and bitter with the understanding that they were so far gone from his life that not one single person in his current circle of friends had even known of their existence. 

In Mexico it was easier. Every morning he'd wake up and remember, and the pain in his heart would be so sharp, but then he'd get up and there would be the beach and the sea and the sky. It wasn't as if that made him feel better, it wasn't like it made up for not having a family any more, but at least everywhere he looked didn’t remind him of what he'd lost. The empty vista matched the way he felt on the inside. 

After a while, he'd go and find Mike, and Mike would throw a bottle of beer from the cooler at him and they'd sit and drink on the deck until Mike told him _'Make us some Huevos Rancheros, Probie.'_ And he would. Then they'd sit some more until they'd finished their eggs and Mike would tell him what job needed doing that day. Every day Mike had a job for him to do, every day he'd do the job, whatever it was. Mostly it was woodwork, but sometimes it would be gardening or painting, and if there was nothing else Mike would send him out looking for driftwood. Mike had a thing for driftwood apparently. It was a strange habit he'd only seemed to develop since he'd been in Mexico, but he'd tell Gibbs that if there was nothing else then there was always driftwood to collect.

Gibbs liked the work, even collecting the wood. He liked that he'd work hard enough it made him sweat. He liked that he would be tired at the end of each day, and that there would be a job he'd finished by the time the sun was setting, even if it was just a pile of wood he'd hauled. And he liked that it was hot. 

He was kind of ashamed to admit that last part, because there was another pain he'd felt when he woke up from the coma. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't something he'd any right to feel sorry over. It seemed like a truly selfish thing to have even noticed, vain too, and Gibbs had never been a vain man. Oh sure he'd glanced in a mirror from time to time to check his hair was neat, that it didn't need a cut, that he looked tidy of course, that his tie was straight if he was wearing one, or that he hadn't got something stuck in his teeth if he visited the bathroom after lunch. That was the extent of his interest in what was there when he glanced in the mirror. 

But not the first time he'd dragged himself to the head, after he'd been allowed out of bed. He'd already been numb. He had half believed it was some kind of incredibly vivid dream, that he was still in a coma, or that he was dead and stuck in some limbo, a place of perpetual loss and confusing television shows. 

So as he'd shuffled to the bathroom for the first time, on legs that didn't seem to belong to him, and he hadn't been prepared when he'd glanced up and saw his face in the mirror. The shock, the plummeting feeling in his gut, as he'd realised the old man looking back was him. That had been the first moment when he'd actually believed that he'd lost fifteen years, when he looked at his face and saw how old he was. He looked like his grandfather, grey face, grey hair, eyes so faded they looked kind of grey too. He looked like a man who had lived everyone of those missing fifteen years real hard. 

Then shock and self pity subsided and all he’d felt was shame, because he didn't have any right to feel sorry for himself. He had a job to do, people were relying on him, and he needed to straighten himself out. So he’d picked up the razor and he’d seen to his hair. It had seemed like he wasn’t much of anything anymore if he’d even neglected to keep his hair descent. As he watched that old man's hair wash down the sink he felt at least one tiny part of the chaos was restored to good order. 

But he couldn't shake the aches and pains he noticed every time he woke up, or the way his knees sometimes felt like they were filled with sand when he moved, or the way he couldn't see stuff any more because it was printed too small. He avoided looking in mirrors because he hated the defeat he could see, hated the years that lined his face, that showed his life had moved on without his family. He hated the betrayal of having survived at all, having carried on so long after they were gone.

Gradually, that life he'd lived, those missing fifteen years, had begun to come back to him, in parts. Some memories were so clear and sharp, but others were disjointed, clouded, and some were likely gone for good. He'd recall fragments of conversations, impressions of things he'd done, and places he'd been that made no sense at all. Even the chronology seemed mixed up, so that when he remembered something he couldn't always put it into context with his other memories. 

And coming, as it seemed to him, only a scant few months after loosing his wife, it was beyond painful to glimpse intimacies with women whose names he was only just beginning to recall.  
Startling memories, moments of passion, a scent that seemed familiar, the feeling of soft skin, having no idea which of his wives or lovers it belonged to. The curve of a calf and the soft cleft behind a knee, half exposed bodies in bed, pale skin against dark sheets, hair spread across a pillow.  
Were they even lovers at all? Some of them could be memories of crime scenes. 

Then there was the sickening shock of suddenly remembering the moment he pulled the trigger. Killing someone, when he had no idea who they were or why they had ended up on the wrong end of his gun.

At least with Mike there was no expectation. Mike didn't look at him with hopeful eyes, waiting for him to remember, waiting for him to be better. Mike was part of the life he remembered living. Mike said _he_ had come to Mexico to escape the world, and he was happy to show Jethro how to do that, too. Plus, in Mexico Gibbs' bones didn't ache like he was an old man. It made it not so terrible to get up in the morning or to go to bed each night. 

He had only just started trying to make his peace again when he'd received that call from Ziva. He knew enough by then, remembered enough, to know that for her to call it meant things were really bad, so he'd returned.

And now, a year later he was still unable to decide if it had been a mistake coming back. On a good day he could do the job without having to rely too heavily on the others, and he could hide behind the angry words and uncaring manner they seemed to expect from him. But days like today were not good days, days when he felt every one of his nearly fifty years, when he knew that he'd forgotten too much, when memory of the losses in his life turned not to sorrow but to anger. Those were the days when he knew he should have never come back.

 

 

The soft touch on his wrist startled him back to the present and he jerked away, catching his hand against the side of the boat. “Fuck! Oh God.” The whispered words and the moan of pain slipped from him involuntarily as the deep throb of agony burned bright again, where his hand had made contact with the wood. 

“What is it? Oh God, Boss, what did you do?” Tony was gentle but firm as he pulled Gibbs' hand down and into the light where he could see it. “Shit, Gibbs, man you've made a real mess of this.”

“It's fine.”

“I don't think so, it looks like you've busted something.”

“I'll ice it. It'll be fine.”

“Believe me, I've had a few broken bones, in my hand and other places, and this is not going to be fine with just some ice. Let's get you out of here.” Tony reached in and tried to help Gibbs up.

“Just leave it, DiNozzo!”

“Ah Boss, don't be like that.” Tony continued to manoeuvre the older man, good-naturedly ignoring the bite in the comment, until he finally had him sitting up.

“I hate this, you know that, DiNozzo?” Gibbs felt ancient, grey, old, and in pain in a way that was actually worrying him more than he wanted to admit.

"What do you hate?"

Gibbs looked down as Tony reached past him into the space beneath the boat to grab the glass. The younger man turned his face aside as his hand brushed and finally grasped the glass of drink.

Tony had turned his face up a little more as he spoke. and from that angle Gibbs could see the hint of a smile, he could see the fond amusement that lit the younger man’s eyes, and he was struck by the intimacy of the moment. Tony kneeling at his feet, almost touching him, so close Gibbs could imagine he felt a scud of hot breath across his skin. He realised how easy it was to let Tony this close, how easy it would be to let him closer. How effortless it would be to simply slide his hand into Tony‘s hair and turn the moment in to something else.

Gibbs knew how much he relied on DiNozzo now. At first when he had been in Mexico his recollections of DiNozzo had been simple, usually prompted by a rambling tale Mike would be telling in the Cantina about a case they’d worked. Gibbs would recall some detail, maybe working a crime scene with Tony, perhaps an interrogation where they’d double teamed a suspect, or some dreary motel they’d been stuck in overnight when they’d traveled out of state. 

As he remembered more, the memories became more personal: the way Tony had fooled about when they’d been on Airforce One, the time Tony had stayed at Gibbs house when his building was being fumigated, the way he incessantly chased women he had no hope of catching, the second time he stayed with Gibbs when his heating and hot water system had broken down, the way he and Kate had bickered like children, the endless movie references that Gibbs sometimes misunderstood on purpose, the jokes the younger man made which Gibbs often found funny, but had inexplicably begun to pretended he didn’t. 

There was always a strange conflict of emotions when he thought of DiNozzo, amusement and happiness sometimes, but then anger and even an icy rage on occasion. He hadn’t understood where these feelings had come from as his memory was still patchy. But here in the basement he suddenly began to realise how charming and good looking the younger man really was. And he realised that he had always responded to Tony on a very physical level.

He would stand close to him, he would touch him, maybe to hold him back in some situations, or to urge him forward in others. And often when he'd pass by him en route to somewhere else, it was close enough for their shoulders or arms to touch. 

Tony was frozen in place at his feet, their eyes met for a second and Gibbs suddenly understood. He recognised that this nearness made him feel the same roller-coaster of joy and misery he'd felt with Shannon. It was that simple. It was totally fucked up. It wasn't some thing he could face sober. 

“God-damn-it, I need a drink.” The spell was broken. Tony moved, bringing the glass of bourbon with him and Gibbs grabbed it, remembering this time to use his left hand.

“Hey! You shouldn't be drinking that if we're going to the Emergency Room.”

“I should be drinking this, DiNozzo, because we are _not_ going to the Emergency Room.”

“You're going to need an X-ray at the very least, Boss.” Tony was kneeling up again staring at Gibbs hand. There was a pained expression on his face.

Gibbs was finally beginning to feel the effects from his third measure of liquor as warm comfort settled in his belly, and his mind at last focused on something besides himself. He knocked the empty glass gently against Tony's forehead. “What's the matter, DiNozzo? Why are you here this late?”

Tony glanced up then back down at Gibbs' injured hand. “It's not late, not really.”

“Answer the question, DiNozzo.” But he softened the order with another gentle tap-tap-tap against the younger man's head with his empty glass. 

“I couldn't sleep, felt like there was something wrong. I've done something I shouldn't have, and I felt like maybe it was all going to come down on me, like I was in real trouble. And I knew your door would be open, and even if you weren't here I could come down, sit with the boat, drink some of your disgusting bourbon, and maybe I'd work out the right thing to do. But I got here and it's not me that's in trouble, it's you, Boss.” 

“I'm not in trouble DiNozzo.” Gibbs wondered if the lie sounded as blatant as it felt, but Tony didn't react to the deception hidden in the words.

“You're hurt.”

“This?” Gibbs held up his hand. It was just a sullen mass of dull agony now, and he could almost see the pain throbbing bright red in time with his heartbeat, like a cartoon injury. “I can barely feel it.”

“Okay, we all know what a tough guy you are, but we need you in good shape, and this is your shooting hand. How are you gonna shoot the bad guys with a busted paw?”

“Very funny. Just get me some ice, DiNozzo. It's upstairs, in the icebox.”

“I know where you keep the ice, Boss.”

“Then why are you still here?” Tony got to his feet and slowly walked back to the stairs, he turned back as if he wanted to say something else, but Gibbs cut him off quick. “Ice! DiNozzo.”

“On it, Boss.”

Once he was alone he got to his feet, the ache from his hand seemed to have spread through his body like poison, all his joints seemed hot and stiff. He stood at the workbench and poured another glass of bourbon. Normally he'd stop at two, on a really bad night he'd have three, but tonight he wondered if he'd stop at all. 

He briefly thought about pouring some of the liquor over his injured hand. It would kill any infection, and it was something he'd done before, plenty of times. Unfortunately, he knew the pain would be beyond what he could endure quietly so he'd likely make some noise, and when it was over there'd be tears on his face from the agony. While he wouldn't mind that if he was alone, he didn't want the younger man to see him like that, ever. So he waited for the ice, sipping his fourth glass of Old Crow, thinking about what Tony had just said and about all the things he'd revealed as well in those few sentences. He was worried about what it was that DiNozzo had done, and what trouble he thought he was in. 

He knew now it had to do with the undercover work Jenny had given him, the thing with La Grenouille. He knew Jenny's brand of undercover; he had finally remembered some of his experiences with her, intimately. And he remembered he'd been burned, too. He knew instinctively that Tony would never go too deep, would never loose sight of the fact he was using other people, innocents, to get to a target. But with Jenny pulling the strings Tony had been pushed into something he'd never do under other circumstances. 

He hadn't been aware enough of what was going on around him when he’d first come back, too conscious of his own shortcomings to see that Tony was struggling. He understood now that he'd let the younger man down, badly. He realised he should have protected him better from Jenny. He was angry that he had lost sight of just how much of a politician she really was, that for her it always came down to the same thing again, politics and politicians. With Jenny the most important thing was always going to be the mission. In her world there were only degrees of guilt, everyone had some degree of culpability. And in the worst case if someone outside the mission was caught in the crossfire, well there was always an acceptable level of collateral damage that could be born. 

He didn't see things that way and he recalled a couple of times when that had been the cause of friction with his bosses. He knew that he and Jenny had worked together in the field for a long time and, while he didn't remember everything, he imagined he might have tried to show her that there was another way to see things, another way to function. Unfortunately he also figured he might not have had much effect on her point of view, given how quickly she must have risen through the ranks, because here she was, director of the Agency and here he was still the working man.

He seemed to remember that they had spoken of it once, maybe when they were over. He was sure he remembered her telling him about a five point plan or a five year plan. He didn't know what it was, exactly, but he guessed it must have worked out how she wanted given where she ended up. He obviously he hadn't figured in it. 

When the younger man returned Gibbs had no real idea of how long he'd been upstairs, but it seemed longer than it would take just to get some ice. The younger man had his hands full and when Gibbs peered closer he saw his old first aid kit as well as a towel and a plastic bag, presumably filled with ice. He also realised Tony was talking to someone. It took a moment to register the fact that no one else was in the house, so Tony must be using his cell phone hands free.

Sometimes little things had been the hardest for Gibbs to come to terms with since he'd woken from his second coma. He still felt like all his frame of reference was back in 1992, that was still familiar territory, that world he understood. And the thing was, most things still looked pretty much the same on the surface. People dressed much like they always had as far as he could see. Cars looked, maybe a little different but not so much really, people sounded the same for the most part. Then, suddenly, there would be one thing, maybe only something small, that looked completely alien, and he'd feel like he'd woken up in an episode of The Twilight Zone. One of the strangest was the way people were wired up to their phones now, little earpieces, looking like something out of Star Trek.

“Yeah I'll send it through in a moment... yes don't worry... soon as I get it... yes, Bye.”

“Who was that? Do we have a job?”

“Give me a second, Boss, let me just …” Tony managed to clear some space on the workbench for the stuff he was holding. He laid the rolled up towel on the bench and then gently reached for Gibbs injured hand and placed it over the towel so it was supported. He rummaged in the first aid box for a moment, eventually coming up with a small bottle. He peered at the contents suspiciously but then shook his head and opened it. 

“I'm gonna clean this up now, Boss, sorry ...” He quickly poured some of the fluid from the bottle over Gibbs injured knuckles, not giving him a chance to tense up or pull his hand away. “ ... if it hurts.”

Gibbs really didn't feel it much beyond it a kind of stinging cold, so he just shook his head.

“Now I just need this ...” Tony was fiddling with his phone again and there was a flash.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Tony turned away quickly and walked back up the basement stairs to the top, stood there for a moment keying in some numbers and then waited a few more seconds before he came back down again. “You have terrible wireless reception here Gibbs.”

“Good. What did you just do?”

“Sent a picture of your injury for a second opinion. If Ducky says you need to go to the Hospital, then you go, capische?”

“Very funny wise guy, but don't do that again.”

“Do what?”

“That thing with your phone, I don't like it.”

“It was only an email, Boss. Now let me get some ice on this while we wait for Ducky.”

“That was one of the reasons I stayed so long in Mexico.”

Tony was busy soothing the ice across Gibbs swollen hand, but he turned slightly and he went still, wanting to hear. “What was that?” 

“Mexico hasn't changed. Everything was the same, just like I remember it when I went fishing that time with Mike. Here everything is different, even when it looks the same it isn't. On the surface it might be familiar, but underneath it's all changed. I didn't cope very well with that.”

“Hey! Boss! You did enough, you remembered in time. No one could have done more.”

“And it made no difference, Tony. But I stayed in Mexico too long, I understand that now. I should have been here. _That_ might have made a difference.”

“Oh I don't know, things have a habit of turning out the way they should no matter what. You know, like Karma? If you believe in that kind of thing.”

“You're talking to a lapsed Catholic here. DiNozzo, I don't think I believe in anything now.”

“Except Semper Fi.” 

But Gibbs didn't answer, because maybe that was his problem. Even that one simple creed had proved impossible to live up to in the end. 

In his past, he'd felt betrayed by the ones he’d loved most. They had deserted him instead of staying faithful. To his grieving mind it hadn’t mattered that they had no choice, that only death had been able to take them away from him. Once he’d lost them, nothing had ever mattered quite so much again. No one had ever owned him that way again. 

And when it came to the people he should have been thinking about, the people who were supposed to matter to him now, Abby and Ducky, Tony and Tim, even Ziva and Jenny, the people he owed his faith to now, he had forgotten them almost completely. Instead of trying to find his place with them, he'd run away. Then when he'd come back, he hadn't, not fully. He hadn't made it right with any of them. 

The consequences were that Ducky was distant, and actually very angry with him, Tim seemed like he was on edge all the time, and while Abby said there had been nothing to forgive, he knew things were still strained, that the easy fondness between them had gone. Things with Jen were just awkward all round. He hated that she had seen him at his worst, and she didn’t seem to know what to make of him. Strangely the person he felt most comfortable with was Ziva. She seemed to be at ease with him, not expecting more than he was able to give.

Then there was Tony, who still acted the part of the playboy, who still pretend to be happy-go-lucky, who still laughed and made inappropriate comments. But Gibbs understood now that something had died in Tony, something he never even knew was there until it's absence left a dark empty place in the younger man. He had no doubt that absence was down to Jenny. And to him.

He remembered enough of Jenny, and of Tony, to understand how her seemingly brittle fragility would play on the younger man's innate kindness. He knew she would have used that to the full, played on whatever emotions served her best. Whatever it took to complete the mission. He didn't blame her for it, that was just the way she operated, he understood that. Maybe it was the only way she could negotiate the world she walked through now, a beautiful woman of a certain age had to use whatever she could in a world dominated by men. But he was pretty sure Tony didn't have a clue, not about that.

Now the younger man was in trouble and he was blaming himself for the situation. Instead of helping him, Gibbs had been oblivious until it was mostly too late. When Tony had needed Gibbs to be at his best he was useless, drowning in his past mistakes, and wishing for things he had lost long ago. 

So maybe it was time he finally made a choice. The past had shown him that if he wasn't on his game then he made mistakes and other people paid the price. And finally he'd learned a fundemental truth about himself: that if he was here for anything it was to protect his people. It wasn't revenge, or even justice that was the most important thing, it was knowing that he'd never lose another person on his watch. That if anyone was coming for them they'd have to go through him first, and that he'd rather die trying than fail. 

He'd also understood his anger at last, seen it for what it was. A refuge and a smoke screen. He'd used it as a tool, something that allowed him to carry on even through the unthinkable. Since he'd returned from Mexico that white hot anger seemed at last to have drained out of him. He had finally seen that as much as it protected him it also blinded him. That it was anger that had lead to some of his greatest mistakes. 

Tony was still applying the cooling ice, his hand warm and strong where he held onto Gibbs' wrist, but his touch gentle on the heated flesh. It was an intimate feeling, the way the younger man was taking such good care of him and Gibbs knew he could build it up in his mind into something more, something significant,. He also knew he couldn't afford the distraction. 

So while it was a sweet feeling imagining having that kind of closeness again, thinking about letting some one in, he knew it wasn't going to fly in his world. He could have a kind of family with Abby and Ducky, he could have friendship with Tim and Ziva and Tony, and that would have to be enough. Because he knew that he did his best work alone. He needed the solitude and the quiet to focus on the important thing, keeping all his people safe.

He needed something different to focus his mind on, otherwise he'd sit there all night and let DiNozzo take care of him. So if he didn't have his anger to protect him from the kindness of his friend then the only other thing he had to work with was pain . Pain was reliable too, a sharp reminder of where his head ought to be at. 

Gibbs flexed the fingers on his injured hand.

“Boss! Don't!”

The pain was awful but it was welcome too. It burned through all the useless emotion leaving just white hot agony, a numbing flood of reality to fill his mind.

“It's fine, DiNozzo! Leave it.” Gibbs stood up. He was absolutely steady on his feet, pain was always a sure-fire cure for the hazy effects of bourbon. “I've got things to do now. You can get along home. I'll be fine.” 

“But ...”

“DiNozzo! I'll see you Monday.”

“Ducky will … ”

“I'll deal with Ducky. You go home now.” 

“I ... ”

“Listen, Tony, I know, okay? I know there's something you need to talk about. I know you have some concerns. And we _will_ talk. First thing Monday.” 

“Maybe it's too late.”

“It's not too late. Never too late.”

“If you say so, Boss.”

“Listen, I know I'm a bastard sometimes, but I do understand the chain of command, remember? I know who's responsible. I told you that before. And I also understand you can loose sight of what's real when you go undercover. That's why it's the job of the person on the outside to keep things in perspective for you, when you can't. Now go home and get some sleep and we'll talk more on Monday.”

“What's the matter, Boss? You're trying to get rid of me all of a sudden. You got some hot redhead coming over for the weekend and you forgot about it?” Tony tried hard, it probably didn't sound as light as he'd meant it to, but Gibbs appreciated the effort.

“Yeah, something like that, Dinozzo.”

Tony tried to put up more of a fight, but Gibbs seemed to know instinctively how to close him off, shut him down. He never realised before just how hard it was to keep the younger man at arms length. But, in the end he was alone, and he turned the key, uncharacteristicly barring the door that was normally always open. He wanted to get ready and get out before anyone else had the chance to show up and delay him. He had knew the bare bones of what had gone on but he needed to hear the full story. He wanted to get there before the hour really was too late for callers. 

Ten minutes was all he needed. He'd showered off the stink of sawdust and pain and bourbon and sweat. He'd bandaged his hand so it just looked like a careless woodwork accident, and he'd dry swallowed two Tylenol. He dressed for work in his unofficial uniform, slacks and polo shirt with a sport coat. 

In his car he sipped hot black coffee, four heaped spoons of strong instant espresso and boiling water, no sugar, no cream. It wasn't the best coffee in the world but it would do to counter the effects of too much booze. To be honest, he often thought that the softening effect of bourbon actually improved his driving style. Normally he’d be driving on the edge of the envelope, teetering on the brink of road rage. It was enough to make his passengers pale and clinch their seat-belts into place with unusual haste. But the effects of the alcohol made him more cautious, slowed him down some and softened his edge. Made him less inclined to be angry with all the idiots in his way who clearly didn’t have the capacity to be in charge of a shopping cart, never mind a motor vehicle.

 

The traffic was mercifully light and he made it safely to the elegant town house. He even found a parking space right opposite, for once. When she opened the door to him it was clear Jenny had been working in her office at home. She didn't seem surprised to see him, or else she just hid it well behind the bright eyed curiosity she showed him. She was still in work mode, just slightly more casual because she was home, so no jacket or shoes and the sleeves of her blouse rolled up above her wrists.

“It's late, Jethro.”

“You're still working, Director.” His calling her that was a sign this wasn't a social call.

“You'd better come in.”

She took him through to her study. He’d always admired the room. Books lined the shelves on one wall, the graceful old furniture and the cut glass decanters spoke of past times and the dark jewel like perfection of the Persian rug suggested it was a valuable family heirloom. It was a room that had likely remained unchanged for fifty years and it wore its age well. 

However, once he’d learned that this was where Jenny’s father had killed himself, once he’d read the file, another favour he’d called in from Fornell, all it had taken was one look at the stark black and white crime scene photos and all the beauty and grace meant nothing, it was just the backdrop to a death. Now, as he stepped into that room all he felt was a kind of icy cold creeping up his spine. 

The idea that Jenny could sit in that _chair_ , at that _desk_ , night after night, was chilling. It was a side of her that he had no idea existed. It was part of why he had such a bad feeling about what had been going on. He knew whatever it was that Jenny had started when she’d sent Tony undercover to bring down _the frog_ was still unfinished. He didn’t know how or why, but he knew it wasn’t over yet.

Jenny went back to her desk and gathered up some of the things scattered across the surface and dropped them into a drawer. He didn't really have a chance to see what it was exactly. He got an impression of photographs and maybe something else, old microfiche or x-rays, and some printed pages, perhaps an old file. She stepped back around the desk. “Can I offer you a drink?”

His eyes immediately tracked to the glasses and bottles on a shelf to one side. He recognised the shape of the bottle of Rare Breed, knew she kept that there for him. He recalled the taste of that particular brand, one he used to drink, the one he'd favoured. But now that taste made him think of death, of bitter defeat. It reminded him of the taste of metal in his mouth, the flavour of his gun, the times he had come so very close to ending it all, until something inside him had shied away at the last second and held his finger from that final moment of pressure and oblivion. He didn't think he could stomach that taste again.

“I'll take coffee.” 

If choice was unexpected she hid that well too, and left the room for a few moments, returning with a mug that she handed to him. It was some kind of French roast, likely expensive, probably too delicate for his taste, but he swigged it down all the same, and was pleased it didn't taste too bad. Jenny poured herself a drink, the bourbon surprisingly, so maybe she didn't keep it there for him after all. Once she had settled herself deep into one of the leather chairs she simply waited patiently for him to speak.

“You never really explained everything about this undercover thing with DiNozzo.”

“I didn't, no.” 

“You need to.”

“No, Jethro, I don't.”

“I'm his Boss, I need to know.”

“ _I'm_ his Boss, yours too. It was a need to know situation, and you did not need to know.”

“DiNozzo is on _my_ team, Director, and I need to know about anything that affects my team.”

“I seriously hope you are not questioning my authority, Agent Gibbs, because if you are maybe we should have this conversation tomorrow, in my office. There are several issues regarding leadership and the chain of command that even now you seem to have problems _remembering_.”

Gibbs really didn't understand where her anger had come from. He was still a little raw around the edges himself. He took a moment to swallow his own angry response before saying calmly. “I just have a feeling that whatever it is, it isn't over. I want to be prepared.” 

“Oh a famous Gibbs gut _feeling_.” 

He took a deeper breath, trying to notch it back another level, trying to combat her inexplicable fury. “I know I made a mistake.”

“I believe you may have made several. Which one in particular were you thinking of?.”

Jenny was clearly intending to make him work for this, and Gibbs figured maybe she was entitled. He had left her high and dry when he'd run off, and even after he was back he hadn’t been much use to her, apparently. She hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the whole truth about _the frog_ and he hadn't called her on it, even when he caught her tell and knew she was lying. So maybe he was owed this, and he'd never had a problem taking his licks, when he deserved them.

“When I left. I didn't think it through. I didn't consider all my obligations.” 

“That sounds remarkably like an apology. But isn't the mainstay of the Gibbs creed _never apologise_?”

“You know I'm not so sure I _ever_ said that!”

“Oh you did, you definitely did, many times.” 

“Well maybe I shouldn't have.” 

“No perhaps not, but it's too late now, its virtually part of the induction for new NCIS Agents.”

“I'm sorry I ran out like I did. I know I screwed things up, but I intend to make that right.”

Jenny got up and wandered across to the liquor, splashing another generous amount of bourbon into her glass. As she took a long slow sip she held the bottle up, offering Gibbs a second chance at a drink. He shook his head, he still had coffee in his mug and he wasn't going to drink any more liquor that night.

“I can't believe you said that.” 

“I can't believe I did it.”

“Maybe that makes us even, Jethro?”

“Not until you tell me everything that's been going on with this frog thing.” 

“Jethro..” She sighed. “It's complicated.”

“Well you're a complicated woman, Jen. That I do remember.” He held her eyes when they darted to him. He tried to let her see he wasn't being flippant, that he would understand, no matter what she was going to tell him.

“The night my father died, I was meant to be there. But something came up and I didn’t make it.”

“And you blame yourself? Don’t do that Jen, don’t play the _what if_ game. It will just drive you crazy. Believe me, I know.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s the timing. Less than an hour before I should have been there, he’s dead. If he ...” She took another drink maybe to steady her voice. “He wouldn’t have done that if he thought that I’d be the one …” She drained the last of her drink, her voice was harsh now. “A father wouldn’t want his daughter to find him like that? Would he?” 

“Ah, Jen … ”

“I never believed it. He wouldn’t have left ... ”

She couldn't keep the raw edge of her feelings in check, Gibbs could hear the pain it caused her to talk about it, and he knew he had to give her something. He remembered enough of their time together to know he'd never been completely truthful with her before, but he believed he was a different man now, wanted to be anyway, and he owed her some honesty at least. 

“I know, sometimes I feel so angry with Shannon. I just want to yell at her and say _why didn't you take care of yourself? Why didn't you take care of Kelly?_ But someone explained it to me, that feeling, it's grief, part of loosing someone you love.” 

She was quiet for a long time. Standing, holding her glass, just looking down into the empty crystal. Eventually she found her voice. “You never said a word about them, before.”

“I know.”

“You had a family. A wife and a daughter, and you never said a word about them.” 

“I _know,_ and I'm sorry.”

She turned away from him, hiding her face, hiding whatever she was feeling. “How could you keep that a secret?” Her knuckles were white and she gripped the glass so tight her hand was shaking, just a little. But that was the only sign of emotion. He waited her out, guessing she had more to say. “How could you not tell me? You bastard!”

At last the tension seemed to drop out of her, she sighed and looked back at him, her face composed again, only the glittering wetness in her eyes betrayed her feelings.

“I didn't keep them a secret, I just ... It was too painful. I buried it so deep. And I never let myself go there, Jen.”

“It's like I didn't know you.”

“You did. I haven't changed.”

“Believe me, this... tonight? This is different, Jethro... you're different.” She stood there, just looking at him, like he was a stranger.

“Wouldn't have made any difference to us though.”

“I guess we'll never know.” There was a finality in her words. 

But Gibbs did know. Whether it was an actual memory or simply knowledge of who she was now, this woman who seemed like she was just about to fly apart, had a core of steel her that allowed her to make the difficult decisions. He _knew_ that their time together, and their break up, had all been played out on her terms. Just as he knew if he wanted her to tell him what had been going on that would have to be on her terms as well.

Eventually she broke the silence. “The arms dealer, _La Grenouille_ , was connected to my father. During the investigation into his death it started to look like he might have had my father killed. But you know the official ruling was that he had taken bribes and then, when he believed he was going to be exposed, he killed himself.”

Gibbs held his peace, he had heard the frog admit that very thing, here in Jenny’s study several months ago. 

She poured more bourbon into her glass then turned and splashed a slug of it in to his coffee without asking.

“His name came up recently, in connection with a suspected terrorist backer, and we needed to get close to him fast. I had Tony working several aspects of the case, but in the end only one of them panned out, the daughter. She was working as a doctor here in Washington. It was the easiest way, get to the father through the daughter. So I asked DiNozzo to concentrate on that aspect.”

Gibbs took a sip of the coffee. He understood she needed the drink to get through this and Jenny always hated to drink alone. 

“I probably gave DiNozzo more leeway than I should have.”

Gibbs just looked at her. He knew this was her _bête noir_ , and that if this assignment had gone too far it wasn't down to DiNozzo.

“Okay I encouraged him to get as close to her as he could. And it went on for several months. Maybe things went too far.”

“Ya think?”

“Don't be a self righteous ass, Jethro. You know how these things go. Everyone involved was over the age of consent! _La Grenouille_ was dirty, and sometimes you have to play in the dirt to get results. DiNozzo's a grown-up, he knew he was getting into.”

“Did he?”

“If he had a problem he could have come to me.”

“What about the girl, did she understand what she was getting into?”

Jenny had the grace not to answer that.

“And when it ended?”

“He told me he broke it off with her, that he’d ended it cleanly and there weren’t going to be any problems. He told me he was fine.”

“And you believed him?” Gibbs was beginning to understand now, the way Tony had been acting, the things he'd said. “I knew there was more to it than he’d said, but I thought you were covering his back, Jen.”

“I may have misjudged the situation …”

Gibbs caught her eye. He might feel that he owed her something but he wasn't going to let her get away with _that_.

“Yes, he got too close. I think he lost sight of what we were doing. I should have picked up on that. I should have pushed him harder to tell me the details when it was over. I admit it was a real mess, Jethro.” 

“It still is.”

“No, the situation resolved itself. She left, I checked, she’s in Africa now. And DiNozzo seems fine with it. He’s had months to put it behind him and get back on track.”

“Jenny, I may not remember half the things I should, but even I can see DiNozzo is a very long way from being fine with this.” 

“Well, if you look at it that way, none of us are okay are we? We all have our _secrets_ , don‘t we, the things we regret? But we just have to get on with our lives.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed the rest of her drink. 

Gibbs noticed her hand was still shaking. It was so unlike her to be less than a hundred percent in control, and suddenly he had another feeling, in his gut. He was certain something was wrong with her.

“What is it, Jen?”

She shook her head and when she met his gaze, although her eyes were glittering as if she was holding back tears, she was back in charge. “Nothing. I'm fine. You on the other hand are not looking fine. Get some sleep, you look as if you need it.” She glanced pointedly at his injured knuckles. “And make sure Dr Mallard sees that first thing Monday. I want confirmation that you're fit to work in the field before you start anything.” 

“It was just a woodwork accident. It's nothing.” 

“We'll let the Doctor decide that shall we.”

“What about DiNozzo?”

“Tony's a big boy now. He'll be fine. But I will keep him out of any special assignments for a while longer. Does that satisfy you?”

“Nothing from the op that might come back and bite us on the ass?”

“No Jethro, it's dead and buried. Trust me on that.

***************************************

Gibbs was almost surprised it took so long for the shit to hit the fan.

It felt like doom was hanging over them. He'd tried to talk with Tony first thing, but they got caught up with some stolen Radar and a week-long stakeout. He ended up spending most of his time with Ziva while Tony ended up chasing yet another unimpressed woman, and the moment for resurrecting the talk they had been going to have in his basement that night was long past.

Tony seemed easier though. Gibbs finally started to believe the yonger man had made peace with himself over whatever he had done in the name of the job, so he let it be. 

It was different for Gibbs. He was uncomfortably aware of the tension now, and he felt it whenever they were together. Whether Tony was by his desk, or leaning over to it to point something out on the computer screen, or standing beside him in front of the plasma screne, or when they were in the elevator, or in the car, it was as if the air around DiNozzo was charged and Gibbs was suddenly sensitive to it. He forced himself to ignore those feelings, forced himself to be blind to all that and just focus on the job whenever Tony was around.

It was getting harder to do every day though, because he had really begun to feel a change in himself. With others he was able to be more open, and it felt good, like finally coming up for air after being lost in deep cold water.

He cleared things with Duck, and he felt their friendship warm up again. It was far stronger and deeper than he realised, and he wasn't sure he'd fully appreciated before how dearly he valued his conversations with the older man.

With Abby he was even more certain that he'd changed things for the better. He could see in her the same kind of free spirit he'd recognised in his daughter. But Abby wasn't a substitute for his lost little girl, she was someone he'd come to adore purely on her own terms. He knew what he felt was a father's love for her, despite the way she flirted outrageously with him sometimes. She was always the person who could make him laugh and spending time with her lightened him. He spent as much time as he could in her lab, and he could see her old trust in him being renewed as he opened himself up to her a little more.

With Tim and Ziva there were subtle things he began to notice. Both of them were so much more confident than when he'd left. Ziva had relaxed a little, like she'd finally taken a breath or two and found she liked the air, and Tim had grown in confidence. Of course becoming a bestselling author could have had something to do with it too, but Gibbs had been so proud when McGee had stood up to him and Jenny over his sister. He knew some of the changes were also down to Tony's time as their Boss, and he tried to encourage it to continue.

Maybe the most startling thing was, how these changes affected his dealings with the civilians he encountered, witnesses, the families of victims, even suspects. He'd always had the capacity to feel and understand what others did, but something had stopped him from expressing it, from connecting with them. Now he was able to show something, share those kindred feelings and watch the way they reacted to his honesty. He could tell from the various reactions of the rest of the team that this was a complete departure from his old style, but it felt absolutely right to him now.

He wondered if he was going to have to talk to someone about it soon. He knew these were the kinds of changes Cpt Gelfand had spoken about when he'd discharged him. He knew he was reaching a point where he would either have to accept he was a different person now and live with it, or he'd have to crush it and return to being that other Gibbs, the one he'd been before. 

It felt like he was living on the edge of a precipice. What he didn't know was if he let go would he be free-falling towards a new life, something different and better, or would he be a plummeting back into the cold depths, retreating into himself until he was beyond the reach of any emotion except anger. 

Gibbs never had the chance to make a conscious decision, because two weeks later it all went to Hell, and before he knew it Tony was being accused of killing _La Grenouille_ and all he could think about was the time when Tony had been locked up in a cell accused of murdering a woman and mutilating her body. He recalled the painful moment watching someone he cared for begin to loose it completely. Tony had not coped well with being locked up. 

This time Gibbs was even more afraid, because now he'd come to understand how much Tony mattered to him, and that translated into Gibbs wanting to protect him. But he wasn't allowed. He had to stand back and let Fornell and Sacks take over. He had to watch as Jenny was relieved of her command. He had to watch as Tony walked away looking like death, like he believed he deserved what was happening to him. 

Of course Gibbs didn't actually obey orders and do nothing. McGee, Ziva, and Ducky came to him and together they discovered what the FBI had on Tony. Then Jenny managed to get through to Jeanne, and once she withdrew her accusation Tony was cleared. The CIA even admitted that they had sanctioned the killing of _the frog_ , but Gibbs still had a feeling there was more to come from this. He knew that Jenny was still hiding something. But he didn't call her on it. He was too busy watching Tony. He saw the heated conversation with Ziva and he watched Tony leave. He understood now how deep the younger man's feelings for Jeanne Benoit were, that he was clearly still in love with her. 

Later, Gibbs sat in the dark with Jenny as she watched her screens and listened to the chatter on the wire. She was back where she needed to be, and while he was grateful for what she'd done to get Tony cleared he had the disquieting feeling that he didn't trust her any more. All this had happened because Jenny had used her position, and had used Tony, to get her revenge. He felt in his gut that it wasn't righteous. He understood intimately about revenge, he'd taken his own bloody vengeance out on the man who'd killed his wife and child, but it had been just that, personal. Just him and his rifle and the man who had wronged them. There hadn't been any bystanders, there hadn't been any collateral damage. 

He told Jen he was thinking of retiring again. He wasn't even sure that's what he meant, it was more like he just _knew_ there was going to be a parting of the ways. It didn't feel like he would be running this time. It was more like he had the feeling everyone was moving on a fixed course. That something was set in motion and he couldn't figure out how to stop it and he couldn't seem to see past it. He was tired of the lies, too. It botherd him to feel them hovering.

Gibbs' father's aunt, Sara Spicer had lived in a shack in the Appalachian mountains. People called her uncany becuase she had a way of seeing things. People always said when he was a child that Leroy Jethro Gibbs had his Great-Aunt Sara's eyes. He never set much store by that kind of thing, but he trusted his gut. His gut was telling him a goodbye was on the horizon, his retirement seemed most likely to fit the bill.

Jenny didn't seem that shocked. She did warn him to think it over carefully because this time there wouldn't be a second chance. He thought she even sounded a little relieved, but maybe she was just as tired as he was. He left her there, in her dark court. Like he'd said, the Queen was back. 

Later still, Gibbs was in his basement, drinking. He hadn't turned on any lights. He hadn't made the pretence of working on his boat. All his tools were clean and neatly racked up on the workbench. There was no varnish or oil, no sandpaper or even paint out. He sat on the cold floor his back resting against the curved surface of the boat and he drank his way down a bottle of Rare Breed. He'd dispensed with using a glass. 

He still hated the taste of his formerly favourite drink. Each swallow almost choked him as it brought a fresh memory of all the times he'd sat and drunk, all the times he'd wondered if that was the night when he'd finally end it. But he wasn't drinking for pleasure so it seemed fitting that each mouthful burned him like acid going down.

He was drinking to remind himself of who he had been. And maybe he was drinking to forget too, although it was an incredible cliché for a former amnesiac to be doing that. While Gibbs had never said so out loud, he truly hated clichés, especially when he found himself living one. But mostly he was drinking to forget that Tony had gone to see Jeanne and that he was going to tell her what she needed to hear, because Ziva had nailed it when she'd told him to be a man and do the right thing. 

He had no doubt that Tony would tell Jeanne that he loved her, that despite the lies, his feelings for her had been real. He imagined a terrible fight. Shouting. Things being thrown. She'd likely hit DiNozzo a few times, hopefully only with her hand. Lord knows Gibbs had been on the wrong end of more than a few fights like that in his life, but like DiNozzo he'd taken his punishment knowing it was owed, and he'd always hoped that whatever storm was raging, it would blow over eventually. 

Gibbs had known some wild women in his time, but he'd always believed that a woman had the strength and the compassion to forgive a man, if he proved that he was really _hers_. Eventually Jeanne would see that Tony _was_ hers, that he loved her even though their relationship had started out as a lie. That in the end it didn‘t matter because his love for her was real. 

Gibbs played the scene over and over in his mind and it always ended the same. Jeanne would finally accept how much Tony loved her, and he imagined that she would admit how much she loved Tony as well. He knew that no matter how impossible it seemed, she'd forgive Tony and she'd take him back. 

Gibbs kept on drinking. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to dream. He was afraid of what his mind might show him. He wanted to burn this night into his memory so he'd never forget, Tony wasn't his. Never had been, never would be.

For a short time Gibbs had harboured the smallest glimmer of hope that somehow Tony felt something for him too. It was just the shadow of a look in the younger man's eyes. It was in the way he tolerated Gibbs getting close to him. He thought it had been there the night Tony had come to the basement, when Gibbs had hurt his hand. A tiny little spark of something, but nothing to compare with how Tony must feel about the lovely young woman. Gibbs might have been imagining making a fool of himself for love but that didn't make him stupid. He understood there was no competition, not against Jeanne. 

He drank doggedly, but in the end his body gave up the fight. His hand dropped to his side, the nearly empty bottle slipping to the floor with a quiet thud. His his head tipped back against the curved side of the boat. He dropped into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

When it came, wakefulness was a series of painful sensations. The chill of the basement floor had seeped into his bones making them feel heavy and granular. There was an ache in his throat like he'd spent the night screaming. When he swallowed drily it ratcheted up to agony, as if he was trying to swallow barb wire. He could feel the blood moving sluggishly through his body and pooling in his head, where the unpleasant fullness intensified so that he was both light-headed from the pain of a thousand braincells dying in agony while the throbbing in his temples, conversely, made his head feel like it was a hugely distended a bag of mush that might simply burst if he so much as moved it an inch. 

He tried to move his hand and found he couldn't. He tried to move his legs, they were similarly uncooperativeable. Strange thoughts filled his head and he wondered if he'd finally actually pulled the trigger, and yet he wasn’t dead, quite. His heart beat increased and the sensation of nausea oiled the surface of his stomach, but he swallowed painfully, fearful that he'd somehow managed to inflict enough damage on himself to end up trapped inside his useless body but not enough to be dead. It would be a terrible cliché for a trained sniper to actually miss while shooting himself in the head.

He remembered he'd been thinking about clichés earlier. It made him want to laugh, but what followed felt more like a sob. 

He was suddenly afraid to know what had happened. He recalled being in the basement. He remembered drinking far too much. He remembered why he had been drinking so hard. Maybe he'd had some kind of stroke. He didn't know what would be worse, failed suicide attempt or his own body sabotaging him. He wished he _was_ simply dead.

After a while he noticed the pain seemed to recede and he was left with a feeling of weight against his chest and stomach. And strangely, warmth spreading out from there. He remembered once being shot in the leg. After the first moment of unbelievable pain he had felt heat welling out from the wound, shockingly hot but soothing somehow, and then an iron hard pressure that burned cold and almost pleasurable. The sensations of his own blood spilling and then pressure on the wound as someone tried to staunch the bleeding. 

He thought about opening his eyes.

The dim grey light that filtered into the basement was so bright to him it stabbed his eyes like icepicks and he moved his head in an attempt to avoid it. As his head rolled forward what he saw made no sense at all. 

He didn't move, his breathing slowed, and he wondered if this would be the last thing his eyes would see. Maybe it wasn't so bad.

But Tony looked tired. 

His hair was messed up, what Gibbs could see of it, a lock falling across his forehead.

There were dark circles under Tony’s eyes.

There were a few lines on his forehead, more around his eyes. Tony was beginning to look his age. Gibbs wondered when that had happened. 

Maybe it was an illusion but Tony had always looked young to Gibbs, far younger than his years. Perhaps it was a trick of the eyes, the animation in his face, always talking, often laughing, sometimes even angry, always alive with some emotion. But now, with his eyes closed, his face at rest, the lines were visible and the whole cast of his features was sad. It was as if in sleep DiNozzo could no longer keep his secrets. 

Gibbs kept on looking, hoping he might see more secrets laid bare. It was the only time he ever recalled being free to do that, just look his fill, unafraid of being caught.

In the dim light he could see that Tony needed a shave. Gibbs could actually feel the prickle of stubble through his t-shirt where Tony's head rested against his chest. Then Tony moved his head just a fraction, and the rasp of his stubble branded fire across Gibbs chest and the blood that had been pounding in his head just moments before headed south. 

Gibbs could feel heat low in his body and he realised that his inability to move earlier was explained. His lap was full of Tony. Their legs were entangled, Tony was sort of curled up against Gibbs' chest and yet somehow he was sprawled out too. And he was holding on to Gibbs, a hand wrapped tightly round each wrist. Apparently he'd gone to sleep holding on tight and hadn't let go even as the rest of his body had relaxed. 

Suddenly, Gibbs knew just how it would be if Tony held him down, by the wrists, pressing him into the mattress, spreading his legs wide and pushing into him, hot and hard and unstoppable.

It had been a long time, but Gibbs could never forget what it was like between two men. 

Tony moved again and Gibbs felt the wet patch on his t-shirt that Tony must have drooled move shockingly over his nipple. He could not hold on to the soft aching gasp that escaped him. Gibbs was close, he was so close. If he moved at all, if he simply arched his back enough to get even a little pressure against the heavy feeling in his groin, or if Tony moved, just a little stretch or flex of his leg in the right place, then Gibbs would come, right there, in his pants, like a horny teenager. But Gibbs knew that even though it would be sweet, even though it was likely his only chance ever to know how it felt to come with Tony's body pressed tight against him, even though the thought of never knowing how that would feel was utterly unbearable, Gibbs knew that he couldn't do it. He knew that it would be wrong in some essential way.

He shut his eyes tightly. It hurt so bad to give this up, but he had to.

Slowly he felt his control ease him back from the edge of oblivion. 

With a sigh he opened his eyes again and found himself staring down into confused hazel eyes. Tony had woken up too. 

Gibbs cleared his throat and managed to rasp out. "What … ”

Tony chose the same moment to mumble tiredly. “How … ”

Gibbs tried again. “How … ”

As did Tony. “Uuh … what?”

This time Gibbs asked his question silently, eyebrow slightly raised, blue eyes staring intently at Tony.

“Gibbs?” DiNozzo swallowed thickly. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, DiNozzo”

“Oh, uhh yeah, so ... What am I doing here?”

“I honestly don't know.” Gibbs took a deep breath, every part of him hurt like a son of a bitch but it seemed he wasn't dead or even dying, much. And slowly it began to come back to him: Jenny, _The Frog_ , Fornell, that smug bastard Vance ... _Tony making up with Jeanne._

“Huh?” 

DiNozzo shifted against Gibbs struggling like he was trapped. It set off all kinds of agony in the older man's stiff muscles and aching joints, and it set off another kind of ache again too.

“Tony, careful with your ahh … _knee!_ ” 

Tony's eyes were wide, staring up at Gibbs. “What did you say?”

“Move your knee ... _please._ ” 

“Oh ... _Oh!_ … Is that? ... umm ... Better?”

“Thanks.”

Tony settled back beside Gibbs. There was a little colour staining his cheeks now, but he was still looking right at the older man. “But I meant earlier.”

“Earlier? What happened earlier?”

“No what did you _say_ earlier?”

“I _don't_ know.” Gibbs head was hurting worse now, and something even more urgent than Tony's knee was beginning to press him as well. “What ever I said …”

“You said ...”

“DiNozzo, before we get into that ...” Gibbs tried to sit up a little but it felt like his back has been set in concrete, so reluctantly he said. “You got to do something for me.” He hoped Tony would get the message. 

“I do?”

But Tony wasn't getting it so Gibbs swallowed his pride. "I don't think I can manage to …”

“Sure you can, Boss.”

He hated that Tony was gonna make him beg, but he had to move, and soon. “Ah, Christ, I'm old DiNozzo and I spent the night on the floor.” 

“Yeah but you do _have_ a bed, right?”

“You're gonna make me _beg_?”

“Would that be something you'd ...”

“ _DINOZZO_ Goddamn it.” Gibbs didn't want to lose it with Tony, not now. “Just help me up off the floor. Please.” 

There was a comical second when DiNozzo didn't seem to know what to say or do. He seemed completely at a loss and Gibbs knew he would store that moment away. Sometime, when he didn't feel quite so impossibly ancient and sad, he'd take that memory out and look at it and it would make him smile. He was sure it would. 

Then Tony moved and Gibbs had a moment of pure envy. His body could no longer move like that, with such easy grace. A night on the floor left him feeling like a six day old corpse. In some small perverse way he was glad that he was never going to have a chance with Tony after all, because at least that meant Tony wasn't going to see all the ugly things time had done to him.

Then Tony grabbed him and he was on his feet and things were moving way too fast and in at least two directions they didn't want to, and for another moment Gibbs felt so bad he really believed he was dying. Again. 

“Boss? You okay?” Tony was supporting him, and he sounded a little worried and a little strained. 

“In a minute.” Gibbs breathed shallow waiting for everything to settle back in place. “I'll be okay in a minute.” 

“Do you need ...?”

“Coffee!”

“Boss?”

“And painkillers.”

“Okay.”

“Now, DiNozzo.”

“Where should I go, Starbucks?”

“Machine's in the kitchen, just switch it on.”

DiNozzo was still supporting him mostly and he eased away slowly. “I'll get right on it, Boss.” 

When Tony moved Gibbs leaned forward, so he could fold his arms on the work bench he rested his head there with a quiet groan. “Just get the coffee going, I'll be up in a minute.” 

“Right. On it, Boss.”

After a few moments Gibbs straightened up and tried to stretch his back out. He ignored the bloated pounding in his head and the quiet agony of his over-full bladder. If he didn't get the kinks out of his back he'd be crawling up the basement stairs. Eventually there was enough movement for him to climb heavily up to the hall and he used the downstairs bathroom. After he washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face, he glanced quickly in the mirror over the sink then dropped his head down again, hanging over the basin.

 

Everything was extra grey this morning, his hair, his skin, the way his life looked. And while it didn't come as such a shock any more when he caught a glimpse, some mornings the weight of years was just heavier. He couldn't understand what DiNozzo had been doing in his basement instead of being with Jeanne, but he knew he'd have it figured out soon. Whatever it was that drew him here it would only be something temporary, Tony would be gone soon and he'd be alone again.

“ _Before_ , you said I'd make up with Jeanne. Why would you ever imagine she could forgive me?”

Gibbs hadn't heard Tony approach, so his deep, quiet voice speaking from the doorway came as a surprise.

“Because you're in love with her.” Gibbs was studying Tony in the mirror but he had no idea what the expressions that passed across his face meant. “Because she's in love with you.” He splashed a final cascade of water across his face hoping it would at least wake up his brain up enough not to screw this up too badly, but the words were bitter to him even though he knew he had to do this. “All the usual reasons, Tony.” 

“I never knew.”

“What's that?”

“That you still believed in all that.”

Gibbs dried his face and turned to face Tony.

“You're in love, I believe that. You've been miserable since you broke up with her. Just tell her. Show her. Make a grand gesture. Do something romantic ... Hell, I'm the last person you should have come to for this kind of advice.” Gibbs brushed past him and walked into the kitchen. He knew if he didn't get some coffee inside himself soon things might get really ugly. 

“Love conquers all. Grand romantic gestures. You _actually_ believe in all that?” Tony had followed him in.

Gibbs finally got a cup of coffee poured and drank it half down straight off. He got the lid off the Tylenol and swallowed two with more coffee before he replied. “I'm a man who builds impossible boats in his basement. You figure it out.”

“Yeah, stupid I guess, not seeing that.”

“So?”

“You got a cup of that to spare?”

“Help yourself, DiNozzo.” Gibbs opened a cabinet and set a second mug on the work surface by the coffee machine. 

Tony poured himself a cup then grabbed the sugar Gibbs had just retrieved from the cupboard and poured enough in his cup to drown out the taste of the coffee. 

“Can you even taste the coffee?” Somehow after all these years Gibbs was _still_ affronted by Tony's coffee habits. 

Tony took a tentative mouthful and then smiled a little, relieved. “No.” 

Gibbs mumbled something into his mug as he drank the rest of its contents down and refilled it again. Tony just stood there watching him.

“So.”

“So?”

“So why are you here Tony?”

As he began to speak Tony looked away fixed his eyes firmly on the dark liquid in his mug. “There's something I need to tell you.”

“Well if you think it will help. ” Gibbs spread his arms wide, inviting Tony to begin.

“I don't love Jeanne Benoit. I made her fall in love with me. It was deliberate, it was part of the cover that Jenny ... er ... The Director suggested. But I was the one who made it work..”

“So why say what you did last night to Ziva?”

“I was ashamed. I am ashamed. I've never done anything like that before.”

“You've been undercover.”

“Not like _this_. It was always bad guys, and it's okay to lie to bad guys. But Jeanne isn't a criminal or a terrorist, she hasn't done anything wrong.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And I really screwed up. I mean, I didn't love her, I knew going in that I had to seduce her, so I worked _really_ hard to make sure she fell for me. And it worked, unbelievably well. And I had this plan, all these things that a superperfect boyfriend would do. The Director was telling me what to do so you know it worked, completely. And all the time I'm watching myself doing this stuff, and it should be really meaningful, it's tender. Things I've never done before with anyone. Ever. But I'm there in the back of my head watching, and I don't feel anything, not at first. But then the situation takes over, things happen, we share moments, life happens, and I get caught up, and then I do feel _something_ , for her I mean. Becuase she's this totally gorgeous person, and I'm talking about inside, not just her looks, but her _heart_ , you know? So you'd have to be dead not to feel something.”

Tony is staring at him and Gibbs understands, Tony needs him to hear this, but it’s hard for him, listening to Tony describe how he fell in love with Jeanne. 

“Then, suddenly everything becomes more intense. I let myself get carried away by it. And there‘s this moment. It’s the perfect moment and if I can’t say it to her then, well maybe I’ll never be able to say it to _anyone_ , ever. So I tell her I love her. And when I'm saying it I mean it, I really do, but it's not real love, it's like 'movie love'. You believe it while it's happening there in front of you, but then when you get home from the theatre you realise it was all just smoke and mirrors. It’s Tony Curtis kissing Marilyn, in real life they hate each other. And I can't believe it. I can't believe I'm doing this to someone. I'm fucking with them, and I'm into it, so totally into it that I believe it's real. But at the same time part of me is ice cold. Because it doesn't matter what I'm saying. It doesn’t matter what I'm doing because I'm using her and it's all meaningless. All a lie. And it freaks me out. Really, _really_ freaks me out.” 

Tony stopped, freezing up completely then he glanced at Gibbs and looked away again, with a grimace. “I'm freaking out now, aren't I Boss?” 

“Yeah a little.”

“Maybe if you hit me in the head it would help?”

“I don't think I can do that any more, sorry.”  
"Wow!” Tony seemed completely undone by what Gibbs had just said. “I keep on thinking I've got you figured out Boss. Then I realise I just don't have a clue any more.” 

“Oh I think you know me pretty well, Tony.”

“See there, right there, you did it again.”

“Did what, DiNozzo?”

“It's like you're the Gibbs we all know. You don't say much, but when you do its kinda pithy. You cut through all the BS 'cos you don't have time. You don't worry so much who you have to stomp on to get to the truth. But then, suddenly you say something else, you're acting kinda different and it's like you're another person. Like there's this whole different Gibbs, and I don't know _him_ at all.”

“I don't know.” Gibbs struggled to find the right words for what had happened to him. He knew what Tony had said was true, but it was all so recent for him, realising how much he had changed, understanding he really didn't want to go back to who he'd been before. He didn't have the words to explain it, not without sounding like some kind of idiot. And definitely not without giving away just how deep some of his new feelings were. Because DiNozzo was far too smart not to pick up on it. “I try not to do that. ” 

“But see that's just it, Boss. Why would you do that?”

“When I came back. You were all so damned tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for me to go into meltdown or be weird or whatever it was you thought I'd do. So I tried to be like before. But it didn't work, I forgot too much. Or maybe I let myself remember too much. Ah Hell, Tony. I hate this.” Gibbs just wanted this conversation to be over. He drank some more coffee and poured himself a third mug. At least his brain was firing on more cylinders now thanks to the caffeine.

“Yeah I get that, but then it makes me want to ask, which is the real Gibbs?”

“It's not like that.”

“No?”

“No!.”

“Okay, but which one is the default?”

“Say what?”

Tony laughed. “See _that_ isn't really you is it? You do that because you like to tweak Abby and McGee. You like to make out you don't understand the tech talk, but you do. And I would have picked up on it sooner ...” 

“Are you going somewhere with this?”

“Yes, I think so. I hope so.” Tony still looked uncomfortable, and he was beginning to make Gibbs tense. So he grabbed Tony's mug and topped it off with coffee then set it down on the kitchen table, set the sugar down next to it, and sat himself down at the table, using his foot to push out the chair opposite. “Why don't you sit down, DiNozzo. You're making my head ache worse standing there like the bridegroom at a shotgun wedding.” 

“Ha! Yeah, good one, Boss.” But Tony stood there like he was transfixed, until Gibbs stared at him hard and nodded towards the waiting chair, then the younger man finally got the message and sat down with a heavy sigh. 

“Just say your piece, Tony, I won't get mad.”

“Yeah, that's what you say now.” 

“You know I'm not a patient man, so why don't you get on with what you got to say. This is more along the lines of a confession than an interrogation, isn't it?”

Tony fiddled with his mug, poured in more sugar, stirred it up a little, but then he seemed to run out of tactics to delay himself. When he spoke his voice was quiet and low, but there was no hesitation once he started, clearly he'd made up his mind.

“When I first joined your team, you scared me, Boss, pretty much twenty four seven. Sure, I thought it would be an experience, working for a cool military agency, but I was _never_ one of those kids who wanted to be a soldier. I mean, the closest I'd come to it was that Civil War crap my dad went in for, or when The Charles Theatre in Baltimore showed an all-nighter featuring _Heartbreak Ridge_ , _Apocalypse Now_ , _Full Metal Jacket_ , and _Platoon_. I imagined I'd move on after a couple of years with NCIS, like I'd done before. I hadn't planned to stay. Then everything changed.” 

Tony paused and thought for a moment. Clearly remembering the day his world had changed. "The world changed for everyone I guess, that day, and I've never really put this into words before, but _after_ I knew this was the place I belonged. A place I could really do something, where I could make a difference. I mean, that‘s why we‘re here isn‘t it? To try and stop the bombers, to stop the hijackers from flying more planes into buildings, to make sure it never happens again? It's what I'd been looking for all along. 

“And you taught me things I didn't know I needed. I was a good cop before, but I never fit in. I was always too college educated, or too flashy, or too east coast, or too Italian or not Italian enough, just you know ... I never had someone to show me how to belong somewhere before you. No one ever took the time. So I'd watch what you did, and try to do the same. And I just didn't think about all the times you'd do something that just didn't fit in with who I thought Gibbs was.”

Tony stopped for another moment, running his hands through his hair like it was the source of all his discomfort. “See, you can be a pretty mysterious guy at times. And you have all these rules. You keep everyone off balance, you get obsessive, and that can be bad, sometimes, and you're so damn angry it scares everyone. But then this switch gets throw. Like whenever you're with Abby. It seems like she has the key to who you are. Or if someone gets hurt, or if you have a kid to deal with, then you're just totally different. So in my head, to make sense of it, I'd write them off as just a Gibbs _thing_. Like a weird quirk, just stuff that made you Gibbs, what Abby calls your magic. But after you went away, I had plenty of time to think, and I had to wonder... maybe we'd all been wrong about you.”

Gibbs couldn't keep quiet any longer, it was painful to listen to, and he wanted it to end. “I'm not so hard to figure out, Tony, I was a Marine and now I'm not, but I still remember what it's like. I do whatever needs doing to get the job done. ” 

“But what happens after the job is done?”

“Nothing happens. I work on my boat, wait for the next job.”

“Don't you want more?”

“I don't think what I want really comes into it. I got enough figured out in Mexico to realise I do better when I keep it simple. And nothing that's happened since has changed my mind. ”

“And what, that's it? End of story. You go to work or you're here, working on your boat, and that's _the rest of your life_?”

“There are worse things, DiNozzo.”

“Well of course there are.” 

“So. Glad we got that sorted out. I appreciate the concern, Tony, and I understand my social calender seems a little empty compared to some, but it's my life, so can we just be done with this?”

“No. God, no we are _so_ not done with this, I just ...”

“Maybe I didn't explain this very well. We are _done_ with this. Get off it now, DiNozzo!” Gibbs tried to keep the bark out of his voice, but he 'd reached his tolerance for painful self discovery. Hearing pity in Tony's voice, listening to him dissect the bleak prospect of his life was more than he could stomach. 

“You said you wouldn't get angry, Boss.”

“Well I guess I was wrong about that. It isn't the first time. It sure as hell won't be the last.”

Gibbs stared hard at his rapidly cooling coffee, but when the younger man didn't respond at all to his last remark he had to give in and look up, just briefly, to gage his reaction. Tony was staring at him. He didn't seem angry, or annoyed, or upset. Rather there was an almost peaceful look on his face, an almost smile on his lips, and a spark of amused tolerance in his eyes. And that was when Gibbs understood, what it was that Tony was intending to say, and he knew that when it came right down to it, it was something that should never be allowed to become real between them. But before he could think of something to say that would push him away, Tony spoke again.

“I guess it's a little early in the day for soul searching, eh, Boss? Especially on an empty stomach. Do you even have food in the house?”

It was such a non sequitur that Gibbs answered without thinking. “Of course I have food.”

“I bet you used to make breakfast for Mike Franks in Mexico.”

“What are you getting at?”

“What did you make?”

“I don't see ...”

“Oh wait, I _know_ this, you'd make Huevos Rancheros wouldn't you?”

“DiNozzo ...”

Tony sat back with a big obnoxious smile on his face, but there was good humour in his eyes. “Well go on then, Boss, make us some Huevos Rancheros.”

And the strangest thing happened, Gibbs found he'd gotten up and headed for the fridge before he even realised what he was going to do, and once he was there he knew he'd look incredibly foolish if he didn't just get on and do something. He did have all the fixings for eggs the way he like them, and now the Tylenol had kicked in he realised he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the previous day and he was starving. So he chopped and he stirred, he fried the eggs and layered up two plates with warm tortillas and salsa, fried eggs, and a little grated cheese. It wasn't anything like as good as they'd serve in the Rosa's Cantina, but it wasn't bad either.

When he put the food in front of Tony it was greeted with a small smile. “Thanks, Boss.”

Gibbs filled the coffee mugs again and then sat down to eat. He splashed some extra hot chilli sauce on his food, he'd grown to like it much hotter since his stay in Mexico, then he dug in. He'd eaten about half his meal before Tony spoke again. “You come from a big family, Boss?”

“No, why?” He hadn't looked up, or paused his eating to answer, but when there was no reply from the younger man he did look up."What, DiNozzo?”

Tony looked like he was trying not to laugh, but he covered it. "Nothing, Boss.”

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, waiting,

“It's just you eat like you think someone is about to steal your plate away, I thought perhaps you had some brothers or something." Tony smiled but Gibbs carried on staring until the younger man dropped his eyes to his plate again. "This is good.” Tony waved his fork to indicate the food, then he bent his head back to his own plate. They didn't speak again until both their plates were empty. 

Tony sat back with a satisfied sigh. “Sometimes I wish I smoked.”

“No you don't, Tony.”

“Yeah I do, just for a second or two, after a really great meal, or after... uh... other great things.”

“DiNozzo, believe me, be glad you never smoked, it's a really hard habit to break.”

“ _You_ smoked?”

“Yes.”

“That's kind of weird to know. How come you gave up?”

“I had to. When Shannon was pregnant the smell of cigarette smoke made her very sick.”

“That's the first time I've ever heard you say her name. How come you never said anything before?”

“Too hard I guess. Too complicated. Mike never said a word about it when I joined the Agency. It never went down in my personnel file.”

“So you just sort of tried to forget?”

“No, DiNozzo, I never forgot. But I had reason to be careful of what I said.”

“A reason?”

Gibbs didn't answer, didn't even look up to meet Tony's inquisitive gaze. He just got up and cleared the plates and mugs into the dishwasher. When he spoke again his back was turned as he cleaned down the worktop. “You're a smart guy, Tony. I'm sure you'll figure it out.” Then he left the kitchen and slowly made his way upstairs. It was the closest he'd ever come to saying it out loud, that he'd killed the man who had murdered his family. Mike had known. It was a thing understood between them from the moment Gibbs had approached him and Franks had made sure he left him alone with the file long enough to copy down the address in Mexico that he needed. And they had both made their peace with it. 

But Tony was different, he came from a different world. He had only ever been a cop and he had a lot of respect for the law. He might bend the rules, even break a few but he was pretty sure DiNozzo would draw his line a long long way back from killing someone in cold blood. And even now that Tony had been in the Agency long enough to understand that some missions were about prevention, and sometimes that meant extreme force was sanctioned - Hell, he'd happily worked with Ziva and they all knew what she was trained to do - Gibbs was still certain that once Tony worked out what he'd meant then it would stop him in his tracks. Wherever DiNozzo thought this strange morning had been leading, this would put an impenetrable barrier between them. 

Gibbs was absolutely cold, he felt it descend on him as he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. All the things he'd imagined were gone now, out of reach. They might have been completely unrealistic, impossibly unattainable, and he might have already accepted they were never going to happen, but until he actually killed it dead, that tiny spark, the possibility of what might be, had been warmth enough to make living alone bearable. 

Truthfully, Gibbs hated to be alone. He craved companionship. He had only grown into his solitary habits as a way to escape, as a way to avoid pain, as a way to live with the bad choices he'd made in his life. 

The first boat in the basement had been a fun thing for the whole family. He was making it for Kelly to learn to sail in, and she would help him with it. Shannon would always be up and down the stairs with questions, with a beer, with a kiss. And when it was time to finish for the night, she'd make him come up into the house. But after they were gone, finishing that boat in the quiet house had been a labour of love and a physical embodiment of the daughter he'd lost. Then, when he was done, he'd given it away to a local school. It had seemed fitting his basement should be as empty as the rest of his life. 

He'd started the second boat about a month after he and Elaine were married. He'd know that early that the marriage was a mistake, but he figured he'd ride it out, and when he couldn't he'd bury himself in the basement. That pretty much set the pattern. In the end, he'd come to realise the sounds of tools on wood, the radio or the TV on quiet in the corner, and the occasional glass of bourbon was a kind of companionship too. Sometimes a sanctuary, sometimes a confessional, sometimes a penence, but at least he always knew where he was with the wood and the tools. Sometimes he'd even judged his friends and his lovers by how well they fit in that environment.

Gibbs had skated around the idea of Tony for a long time if he was honest. It wasn't the first time he'd found another man attractive, but it was the first time he'd looked at someone he knew he couldn't have. First there was the fact they worked together, because sooner or later that always turned ugly in his experience. Plus, Tony so painfully hero worshiped him, and that kind of inequality was nothing he'd want in a relationship. Tony was straight too, repeatedly and exclusively it would seem. And then there had been the timing. Either Gibbs or Tony had been involved with someone, or all hell had broken loose at work, a serial killer, FBI on their backs, Ari literally gunning for them, and, in the end, Kate's death. The time was never right, but still Tony had been there, in Gibbs mind, a damn fine colleague and a friend. Gibbs had been happy to settle for that.

Then, after the coma, he was different. His Doctor was right, he'd changed in a fundamental way. He was somehow more resilient, he'd lost the hard shell that had grown round him, and it made him want to be as close to someone as he had been with Shannon. He noticed Tony was different too. If the coma had somehow stripped away time from Gibbs, his absence had added years to DiNozzo, and they seemed more like equals. 

But again timing was everything. Tony was deep in the undercover job Jenny had given him while Gibbs met Hollis, and the undeniable attraction he felt had been easy to act on. It had take him a while to realise it was just more of the same, another woman who was essentially a pale copy of his dead wife. So after the initial sparks had been quenched there really hadn't been any substance and they had both backed away from the other as quickly as they could. 

Then finally, after all they had been through, he believed a circle had been closed and he and Tony were in the same place at the same time. But when it came right down to it, when he'd got the message that Tony might actually be about to say something that would move them beyond a friendship and into something deeper, he'd backed away. 

Maybe because there was always going to be something else that could come between them. Jeanne, or some other beautiful woman would catch DiNozzo's eye. Work was always going to fuck with them on one level or another. Gibbs knew he was always going to feel he didn't have much to offer Tony in any relationship they might have. 

Even more, he knew once he crossed the line with Tony there would be no way back. When it ended, everything would end, the friendship and the job. Because the thing was, he knew it _would_ end eventually. There were things he'd done, there were things he'd likely have to do again, and Tony was never going to understand. They both had a strong sense of right and wrong, but ultimately they were divided by it too. 

Gibbs was trained to trust his own instincts, to see things in terms of absolutes. And more than that, he'd been trained to kill. So when his country had asked he _had_ killed, and when his conscience or his code of honor made anything else impossible he had killed then too, and never regretted it. He'd known, each time, it was for the greater good. 

He knew that Tony understood this on some level. DiNozzo knew about duty, he understood about defending the weak, about backing up your brothers and sisters in arms, all the things a good cop would do. But he also believed that Tony would never take the step beyond that, the one Gibbs had taken. 

He knew too that he would never have gone beyond being a Marine sniper if Shannon had been alive, if he'd still had Kelly. He would have gladly done what he was trained for in combat, but he would never have undertaken the kind of Black Ops he'd been involved with later. Some of the missions he'd been on with Jenny. Others that no one in the Agency except his old boss knew about. When it came down to it, he knew he needed to protect Tony from those things he'd done, because it made him someone who could only ever be bad for Tony.

So he'd stepped away again, hopefully for good. He wished he'd be able to keep Tony as his friend, but in the end he knew he was weak in this one regard. If they remained too close he'd give in and make a play for the younger man, and then one day in the future he'd hurt him and prove what a bastard he was, or some business he thought was finished would turn out not to be and Tony would be caught in the middle of it and get hurt, or worse. He just wished he didn't feel so incredibly alone. He just wished that doing the right thing didn't have to hurt like a son of a bitch. 

Gibbs had been on automatic pilot while his mind was occupied with these dark thoughts. He'd turned on the shower, he'd stripped quickly out of his sweat shirt and shorts and he was under the hot spray washing with a kind of ruthless efficiency before his mind even registered the blast of cold air that signified his bathroom door had opened. 

“You know, I never understood until now how come all your wives brained you so regularly.”

“Get out of here, DiNozzo!”

Tony laughed, but it wasn't a very happy sound. “That won't work on me any more. And just so you know, if you keep this up, I've brought a skillet with me from the kitchen and I'm not afraid to use it on your head.” 

“I'm in the shower for Christ sake.”

Tony stood close to the curtain but he didn't open it. “Nothing I haven't seen before. It doesn't bother me.” 

Gibbs was busy trying to rinse off, he must have got soap in his eyes from the way they were stinging. “It bothers me.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, well, get used to it.”

Gibbs had finally washed off the soap, and he stood there for a few seconds, letting the hot water rain down on him. The thought crossed his mind that he'd just stay in the shower forever, that he'd rather wait Tony out, that he'd never leave. But he'd faced down too many things in his life really to be able to back away from this now, so he grabbed the edge of the curtain and pulled it back.

“Here use this.” Tony already had a towelling robe spread out so Gibbs stepped straight into it.

He had spent too many years living with a bunch of Marines in close quarters to actually have any kind of modesty about his body, but Gibbs was glad Tony had given him the option to cover up straight away. He figured the days when the sight of him naked would be anything more than a curious catalogue of past injuries were long gone.

“Mind if I grab a quick shower too? Maybe you could find me something clean to change into?”

Gibbs felt like he couldn't keep up with where Tony was going with all this. He wanted to argue, to throw the younger man out, but somehow he held his anger and his pain and his need to be alone in check. He just nodded and left the water running while he went off to find something for DiNozzo to wear. He was back a few minutes later with some clothes. He put them on the closed lid of the toilet and he was turning to leave when Tony spoke above the noise of the shower.

“We're not done with this, just so you know. But I have to get out of these clothes, I've been wearing them for twenty four hours and I couldn't stand it any longer. We need to talk though, so don't go running off, Jethro.”

Gibbs could see him, through the curtain, just a skin tone and the darker places where there was hair, but very little detail. He was completely still, waiting to hear any reaction there might be to his words. Gibbs forced some bite into his voice as he replied, “It's my house, DiNozzo, I'm not going anywhere.” 

“As long as we're clear that I've still got that skillet and I know how to use it.”

Tony tried to make it light, and Gibbs appreciated the effort but there was something in his voice that he couldn't place and it gave the words an edge. He didn't know what Tony meant by using his given name, it was some thing he had actively discouraged and DiNozzo had always complied up until now.

Gibbs dressed himself quickly and he went downstairs. He ground more coffee and put it in the machine. He purposefully did not listen out to hear what DiNozzo was doing, he tried not to think at all about the fact that Tony was naked and wet in the bathroom upstairs. He just collected the Saturday paper from the front porch where the paper-boy had thrown it, and then took another cup of coffee and sat out back with the paper spread out in front of him on the picnic table. He even turned the page occasionally as if he was actually reading. 

Tony had been watching him for a while, but Gibbs kept up the façade of reading the paper, a kind of blank curiosity masking his face. He'd hidden a lot over the years behind that particular expression. Finally Tony strolled across to the table and leaned over Gibbs shoulder to look at the full page spread.

“I'm not sure I agree with _that_.” Tony pointed at something in the article. 

Gibbs tried to focus on what was actually on the page but even squinting didn't help, he needed the damned glasses.

"Here, you want these?” Tony put a pair of reading glasses down on the newsprint. Gibbs put them on and glanced at the page he'd been pretending to study. He folded the paper shut and thumped it down on the table, but he couldn't completely hide the smirk of amusement at the way Tony had caught him out 

“You see ... I figured you wouldn't agree with them including the Christian Louboutin ankle boot in this season's _top five shoes to die for!_ ”

“Very funny, DiNozzo.”

“As Abby would say, you're Old School all the way, Gibbs.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Old School, like Manolos, not Jimmy Choos. Old School like when someone does something bad to one of your own and you don't rest until you've taken care of it personally.”

“Don't ...”

“Old School like you think it's up to you to protect everyone.”

“It is ...”

“Old School like what happens to you doesn't matter as long as everyone else is all right.”

“That ...”

“... really pisses me off? You bet it does!”

“I can't help who I am.”

“Well I _know_ that.”

“So what is all this about?”

“You. Quitting. Running away with Mike Franks for God's sake.”

“I did not _run away_ with Mike Franks.”

“I'm quoting Abby here again. _But, Gibbs, he's gnarly and he smokes like he's never heard of the Surgeon General, and he has a bad bad attitude._ Why would you do that? Why would you abandon everyone you know cares about you and stay with him? Did he chain you up in his shack? Is he holding something over you? Do I need to go to Mexico and shoot the bastard?” 

Gibbs was trying to follow this strange conversation but he kept getting sidelined by Tony's expression. He seemed to be making a joke of it all and yet his expressions went from angry to confused to sad and back to angry again. And the last words were such a shockingly blatant acknowledgement of the very thing Gibbs had actually done, that he replied deadly serious. “You don't need to shoot him, no.”

“Fuck it, Jethro. Don't you get it?”

“No, I don't.”

“Alright.” Tony sighed as if he felt the world weighing on him. “I'll explain, but this time just shut up and listen, okay? And don't run away again.” 

“I did not run away.”

“Please, Jethro, just listen.”

Gibbs gave up, he nodded and let Tony continue.

“Last night, after I'd seen Jeanne, told her there was nothing between us, I went back to the office. I had to brief the Director, and there was paperwork to clear up, but I couldn't seem to get anything done. I kept thinking about the conversations we'd had the previous week, how you'd been the night you hurt your hand. I knew you were trying to tell me something, but you'd backed off. I mean, that was enough to wig me out big time, because you are never subtle, and you never hold back. At least that's what I used to think. And I was sitting at my desk, just thinking and it was like I just suddenly got it all. Like the final scene in Memento, all the little scraps and pictures made sense. I remembered your expression earlier when Ziva was talking to me. You were watching us, you knew what she said to me, you thought I was going to make up with Jeanne. 

“And I remembered I'd seen you look at me like that before. When Caitlin was shot. And maybe when I was in isolation, with the plague, you looked through the glass at me one time. I guess you thought I was asleep. Then I remembered something Ducky said once, how when he first knew you you were like me. I remembered how you were with Zach Tanner. And McGee told me this story about Yoon Dawson's baby, and none of it made any real sense, because you were two different people.”

Gibbs took a breath, he started to speak but Tony just ploughed right on.

“But whenever anyone gets too close you just throw up a smoke screen don't you? You get mad, or you get them mad, and they forget what it was they were going to say. And if all else fails, if you can't drive them away then ... and I can't actually believe I'm saying this to _you,_... but yeah, if nothing else works then you run away. But you're not doing that to me, not this time.” Tony rubbed a hand cross his mouth. “I finally worked it out, and I can't believe I was so stupid. It's not like I don't do it myself. Everyone does it sometimes but you made it your life. See I know that Special Agent Gibbs, he's just your game face. And I'm going out on a limb here and saying Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs was too. It was just how you got the job done, all the things you did, all that stuff you'd seen, it just made it easier to do the work if you put that mask on. And I imagine it simply got harder and harder to take it off at the end of the day. And one day you just didn't.

“Maybe there was no one at home to make you, or maybe there was someone there but it was easier to deal with her too if you kept the mask on. Pretty soon, people begin to forget, because you shut down on everything that isn't work related. You don't socialise, you stop admitting to any kind of life at all outside the job. Before you know it, that's all anyone sees, that's all you _want,_ anyone to see. And in the end you kind of forget yourself that there's any more to life than your work. You are the job, the job is you. But no one is ever that one dimensional, _you_ aren't that one dimensional.” Tony paused for a minute like now he was waiting for Gibbs to speak. 

Gibbs was frozen in place. He wanted to leave, but he needed to stay. It sounded as if Tony had him completely figured out, and in a way it was a relief. It was just, he had no idea what to do now He'd already thought again about retiring, and maybe that was going to be it.

Tony was sitting opposite him, but for most of the time while the yonger man had been talking Gibbs had been looking out across his garden, only meeting his eye occasionally. But as Tony paused, Gibbs looked up and met his gaze and held it. He opened his mouth to speak, because it seemed like that's what Tony was waiting for, although he had no idea what he would say. But then the younger man leaned forward and continued to speak. Except now his voice was softer, maybe gentler, but still certain, still serious and intent.

“I'd like to know that real Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He's the guy Abby goes to lunch with on her birthday. He's the guy who knows how to comfort a crying baby. He's the guy that rescued that drug squad dog for Abby. He's even the one who flirted with Ducky's mother. I think I met him once, briefly, right after Kate died. He was worried about me because I was soaking wet, and he offered to buy me a coffee. But like a complete idiot I didn't appreciate his concern and all I wanted was for things to be normal, all I wanted was the _real_ Gibbs to come back. But now all I do is wonder why didn't I do _this_ when I had the chance.”

As he spoke Tony reached his hand towards Gibbs and stroked a finger softly down the side of the older man‘s face until he cupped the cheek in his palm. He applied a gentle pressure to tilt Gibbs' face a little.

Then Tony leaned forward, slowly, his lips slightly parted, and all Gibbs could do was think how incredibly huge and green Tony's eyes were until they were too close to see and he had to close his own eyes. Then all he could do was feel how soft Tony's lips were as they pressed against his own, how it electrified his heart to feel the kiss deepen, how that gentle kiss stole the strength from his body and melted his spine away until all that was left was the hot, sweet strength of a mouth moving against his own, the breath stealing from Tony's mouth into his, the sigh that started deep in his own chest and ended up whispering across his lips and into Tony's mouth. Finally, all he could think of was the aching sweetness of that first kiss and how the second would be even better. He leaned forward trying to chase Tony's mouth when it retreated from his own. 

They broke away from each other each sitting back, staring at the other with a kind of confused satisfaction. _Why had they never done that before?_

“I guess we were too afraid or something.”

“Huh?”

“We never did that before, maybe we were afraid?”

“I said that out loud?”

“Yeah you did. But it's okay, I was too.”

“I wasn't afraid of _this_ , Tony.”

“Kind of hard to believe, after all the running away you've been doing.”

“I was not running away. How many God damn times do I have to say it?”

“Maybe until you believe it.”

“It's what comes _after_.”

“Aw hell, I'm afraid of that too. I mean it's got to hurt, right? And isn't it kind of ...” Tony waved his hands expressively his face screwed up as he tried to find the right words. “Uhmm ... unhygienic? I mean I've never done _that_ before with anyone. I might hate it. You might hate it.” 

“Not the sex, Tony I have no doubt that would be _outstanding_. It's what comes after. When we try and make it work, and it all falls apart because making it work is impossible, and I'd hurt you or worse, and you'd come to your senses and realise how much better you could do and get the Hell out of it. We'd be risking our careers, maybe our lives, all for something that can't last.”

“Outstanding?” Tony couldn't keep the amusement off his face or out of his voice. “Really?” 

“I've had no complaints, but can we focus on the important ...”

“You've had no complaints?”

“DiNozzo, focus!”

“Well I have a complaint.”

“What?”

”A complaint.”

“This is serious, Tony, can't you be serious just this once?”

“Well I _can_ be serious, of course. But when a life is as fucked up and totally screwed as mine seems to be, I think it's better to laugh in the face of adversity rather than cry. When something that could be really good seems to be disappearing down the drain right before my eyes, I could cry over the spilt milk but I'd rather not. I mean we've just shared out first kiss, and suddenly it's over, finished, in the trash, no hope for us. And I guess I should cry over that. But I won''t.” Tony reached forward again his fingers ghosted down the side of Gibbs' face and lingered there a moment before it skimmed down his shoulder and arm and came to rest warm and firm on top of Gibbs' hand where it lay on the picnic table. He grasped Gibbs' fingers tight in his own. “And I believe you. So my complaint is why don't you believe yourself.” 

“What do you mean?”

“You said we'd try and make it work You said we'd risk our careers and maybe our lives trying to make it work. That's all I need to hear.”

“And I said we'll screw it up. I'll screw it up, get you hurt, get you killed.”

“I don't care. And besides that's my choice isn't it?”

“Tony.”

“Listen. You were married, you've been married four times. That tells me you don't want to be alone. I've chased more women than you've probably even said hello to in your whole life. You know that means I hate to be alone. But I've never found a woman I could stay with. If all I wanted was to be with someone beautiful and kind and generous and _safe_ , then I'd be with Jeanne. You _know_ I'd have found a way to get her to forgive me, to get her to take me back. But it's not what I want. And when I was with her, even when I'd convinced myself that I was in love with her, the minute she asked me to choose, then I knew that I wasn't in love with _her_ at all.” 

“I understand. No one wants to be alone.”

“No not just that. I've never found a woman I could stay with.”

“Maybe you aren't meant to.”

“I guess not, but I stayed with _you_.”

“Not the same. I'm your boss. You love your job.”

“I loved my job in Peroria. I loved my job I Philly. I _really_ loved my job in Baltimore. But I still left.”

“Not the same, you moved on to something better each time.”

“I stayed with you when I should have _died_.”

“Tony the virus had self destructed, you were going to recover anyway.”

“Not so. I was so close to gone, every breath was a struggle and I had no strength left. I was letting go. I was giving up. I _remember_ that. I was right there, I was floating, I was going into the light, and then you were there. You told me not to die, and pulled me back from the edge. I stayed with _you_.”

Gibbs swallowed hard. It was something he hadn't remembered at first, but then one day it came back, the moment when he'd first walked in to the isolation wing, when he'd seen Tony, alone in that glass mausoleum. He remembered the way Tony's breath was rattling in his lungs, the pallor, the hollow cheeked look. It was something he knew he'd seen it before, and it usually didn't end well.

“I don't know...”

“Give it a chance, Jethro.”

“Tony, it won't work.”

“Please.”

Gibbs looked out across his garden again. Clouds had blocked the sun and the sky had turned sullen. The trees were losing their leaves early this year, and it looked like it was going to be a long winter. Gibbs felt the cold now, and he didn't like it so much. He wanted something that wasn't cold in his life. He looked across the table at Tony and he wondered if he could stand the heat that the younger man was going to generate in his life. "What made you even think I wouldn't shoot you down for this?"

"I had a gut feeling about it."

"But why today? Why now?"

"When I got here last night it was all dark and quiet, but I saw your car in the drive, so I knew you were here. I shouted and you didn't answer. The place felt like it was empty. I was half way down the stairs before I saw you. 

"Maybe eight or nine times when I was a beat cop, I walked into a quiet house and I _knew_ I was going to find something bad, bathroom is always a favourite if it's with a gun, bedroom if it's a woman, they usually do pills. A couple of times it was a basement. Basements were always messy. All I could see was your hand laying palm up on the floor and a long dark shape next to it, and your legs out straight. Your face was tured away in the shadows. I've seen enough crime scenes to fill in the gaps." 

"You thought someone _killed_ me?" 

"Not _someone_ ..."

"You thought ..."

"I came down the rest of the way and it was too dark to see, but I couldn't turn the light on. You do know, don't you, that you were dead when I pulled out of that car, out of the water? I just couldn't look at your face like that again. So I knelt down and I put my ear against your chest. I guess my knee hit the bottle you'd dropped, I recognised the sound as it rolled over the floor about the same moment I heard your heart thumping away, and I realized you weren't dead, just dead drunk."

"But why would you think I'd kill myself?" 

"I don't know. Jenny's father? _The Good Girl_ is my favorite Jenifer Anniston movie? You had a strange look in your eyes when you watched me and Ziva last night?" 

Gibbs reached across the table and ruffled Tony's hair a little. "I'm sorry, Tony."

"No it's okay, because it made me understand. You can't wait for it to be perfect. Not like in the movies. Not like the blueprint for a romance that the director drafted for Jeanne. I was sitting on your drafty basement floor, you were beginning to snore like a buzzsaw, in the morning I knew your mood would be uglier than a grizzly with a hangover, but none of that mattered. Because it was real. So I promised myself I wouldn't let up until you saw it was real too."

Gibbs recognised he was beaten. Tony was bold, he was relentless, and he never shut up. Suddenly Gibb felt a rush of heat across his face as the image of a new and interesting way to shut Tony up flashed into his mind. He let himself enjoy the feel of that heat. He knew if he hooked up with DiNozzo it was going to be a wild ride. For a time he'd convinced himself he was past all that, but sitting here he realised he wasn't. He understood that he'd already let go, that he was falling and he decided he would enjoy the rush for as long as it lasted. 

He stood up and headed towards the house. Stopping at the door he looked back at Tony.  
“It's too cold to stay out here now the sun's gone. Come inside. I don't like the cold so much since I came back from Mexico. Don't like an empty house so much either, must have gotten used to company.”

Tony stood up and walked towards Gibbs. His smile held the kind of warmth that Gibbs knew he'd been missing from his life for far too long. As Tony reached his side, Gibbs threw his arm around the younger man and pulled him inside.

 

The End..  
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End file.
